


May's Anatomy

by elle_you_oh



Series: I'll Heal the Pieces of Your Broken Heart [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Doctors AU, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Surgical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 100,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_you_oh/pseuds/elle_you_oh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The relationships between the doctors at Shield Memorial can be described by only one word: Complicated. Things get even messier the day Chief of Staff, Peggy Carter hires her old friend Melinda May as their new Head of Cardio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Start Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda starts work at Shield Memorial, reuniting with two old friends and making a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspriation : Start Again by Sam Tsui

**Day 1:**

_There are many people who are convinced that first meetings are important._  
 _They determine the course in which your future with someone will take._  
 _The first impression you make. I think it’s ridiculous._  
 _I still  believe that terrible first impressions,_  
 _terrible first meetings aren’t the end of the world._  
 _Sometimes, you just have to take a step back and say,_  
 _“Okay, do you think we could just Start Again?”_

 

**A month ago-**

“Peggy, I hope you’re not calling to ask how I am. Again,” Melinda says, as sternly as she can possibly manage over the phone.

“Well, that wasn’t the purpose of the call, but since you brought it up, how are you?”

Melinda groans, slamming her pencil down onto her desk as a laugh rings out from the other end of the line.

“What’s wrong with, “I’m fine Peggy, how are you?””

“Everything. You should see the post-op notes I’m going through. I swear, the chief hates me.”

She can hear Peggy laughing as she speaks, and just shakes her head. Truth be told, she was glad for these calls; they forced her to take much needed breaks.

“That’s why I’m calling actually.”

Melinda raises a brow.

“Have you found a way to make his murder look completely accidental, because I’ve been working on that for months.”

They’re definitely over two thousand miles apart, but still Melinda can feel Peggy’s disapproving glare.

“Now I’m not so sure I want to tell you the good news anymore.”

That certainly piqued her interest.

“Good news?”

“Dr. Pierce had an unfortunate run-in with an electrical pole whilst driving through a storm. He passed away just over a week ago.”

“I hardly see how that constitutes as good news.”

“He wasn’t very popular with patients or staff. But that isn’t my point. His position as Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery has opened up, and I couldn’t think of anyone better for the job.”

Melinda freezes as she absorbs the meaning of her friend’s words. Peggy was offering her a job. That meant no more Chief Buttface and the other annoying attendings. And she would be the head of her own department. At Shield Memorial no less.

“The offer is open for six weeks. And I’ll be sorely disappointed if you don’t take it, because I’m vetting for you in front of the board.”

There’s only a short pause before Melinda responds.

“I’m typing up my letter of resignation now.”

**Present Day-**

 

“Settled in okay?”

Melinda allows herself a small smile as Peggy greets her at the front doors of Shield Memorial. The structure of the hospital itself was impressive, and she’d heard many of the attendings at her old hospital sing praises about their facilities.

“I’ve barely had a chance to unpack, but it’s not as if I brought much with me.”

Peggy gives her a look and gestures for her to follow as she herself begins to head towards the automatic doors.

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a lift this morning; did the cab ride take long?”

Melinda shakes her head, and follows closely behind.

“We’ve put everything you’ll need into your office, but before we get down to business, there’s a young lady I know you’ll want to see.”

Her eyes widen slightly as she tilts her head, hand shooting out to grab Peggy’s with a frown.

The look her friend is wearing is sympathetic, and Melinda turns her head away, having been on the receiving end of that particular look far too many times.

“Oh Melinda. It’s not.. just come with me.”

They walk in silence, the only sounds of their presence were the clicks of their heels against the floor. She tries her best to memorize every hall and room that they passed; an attempt to keep her mind from wandering into dangerous territories.

They come to a stop outside an on-call room, and Melinda eyes Peggy curiously as she reaches out a hand and knocks on the door rather loudly.

There are muffled sounds coming from within the room, and Melinda can make out the voice of a man calling for them to go away.

“Dr. Barton. I do hope you are quite finished,” Peggy calls out, and there’s some loud rustling before the door swings open.

The redhead standing in the doorway is a familiar face, and Melinda finds herself breaking out into a grin.

“May?!”

She has barely enough time to brace herself and is nearly knocked off her feet as Natasha Romanoff runs straight at her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I promised that you would like the new head better than Pierce.”

From between strands of red hair, Melinda can see that Peggy is smiling at the two of them.

“I’d prefer sack of flaming shit over Pierce.”

Peggy frowns in disapproval at her words and Melinda finds herself suddenly able to breathe again as Natasha relinquishes her hold.

Melinda takes a moment to study her former intern. Her long red curls have been straightened out and cropped up to her shoulders, and she’s now in the navy blue scrubs that marked one’s status as an attending.

Wrinkled navy blue scrubs.

“I see that working as an attending hasn’t changed your habits,” Melinda chastises, as she wrinkles her nose at the smell of what she was now able to identify as sex.

“And you’re as observant as ever.”

Melinda shrugs her shoulders and tilts her head to one side, raising a brow as she does.

“Your shirt is on backwards.”

The male - Dr. Barton presumably - inside the on-call room lets out a hearty laugh, as Natasha storms back inside and slams the door shut behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, Melinda feels perfectly at home strolling through the halls at Shield Memorial, with Natasha right beside her.

She supposes that hospitals are similar enough, and her new scrubs and lab coat feel no different from her old ones.

“Just take a left, the NICU is right at the end of that hall.”

She nods silently as Natasha runs off down the other end of the hall-way; she had a surgery scheduled and despite her overly relaxed personality, had no intention of being late.

They’d both been paged minutes earlier, but on account of Natasha’s already scheduled surgery, it fell to Melinda to answer the page.

She’d worked with newborns and operated on children back in LA, but Peggy had mentioned that Shield Memorial was popular not only for their neurosurgeons, but also their work on pediatric cases.

As she reaches the end of the hallway, she notices that the NICU is mostly empty, save for the sick infants. There are a couple of nurses checking on things, and a group of doctors surrounding a patient in one corner; all wearing pink gowns over their scrubs.

She enters the room quietly, navigating her way through the cots until she reaches the doctors huddled in the back.

“What took you so long Romanoff?”

Melinda frowns as the male doctor, who is currently checking on the newborn lying beneath a plastic hood, asks without looking up. The interns behind him are silent, save one, who lets out a snicker, and the doctor, whom Melinda assumes is the Peds attending in charge, finally straightens up and notices her.

“You’re not Romanoff.”

It takes every ounce of tact that she possesses for Melinda not to roll her eyes at the attractive blue eyed doctor, who is now staring at her in confusion.

“Melinda May. I’m th-,” she begins, holding out a hand, which he shakes as he completes her sentence.

“- The new Head of Cardio. Of course. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatric Surgery.”

She watches him expectantly after he releases her hand, and it takes him a little longer than necessary to realise that she is waiting for the chart.

“Sorry. Here.”

He hands it over to her, and she flicks through it quickly, the furrow in her brow increasing with every page she reads. HLHS cases aren’t rare in comparison to come congenital heart diseases, but in her entire career to date, she’s only operated on a handful of infants with the defect, and from what she can see in these notes, the prognosis is not good.

“Pierce performed the Norwood six weeks ago; he was scheduled for a second procedure in two months, but there have been some complications, and we’re detecting beginning heart failure.”

Melinda looks up from the charts to find Dr. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatric Surgery watching her intently.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she frowns and shakes her head.

“I’m afraid there’s no way I-”

“Don’t ever tell me there’s no way.”

Melinda stares in shock as he raises his voice at her, and the other doctors take a step backwards.

He takes in a deep breath, raising one hand to his temple, before he speaks again.

“Trip, go round on my post-ops.”

Within moments the room is silent, deserted - well nearly. The nurses are wise enough to keep themselves occupied and their gazes averted.

“I get that I’m new here,” Melinda replies quietly. “But don’t think for a second you can take that tone with me.”

They’re both tense now, standing stiffly, frowning at one another.

Neither are moving, both holding their ground, until the heart monitor beside them starts beeping erratically.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

As she scrubs, soapy water washing away the grime from her hands, she feels a figure move up beside her, and hears the other tap turn on.

_If I were so optimistic about life, I wouldn’t have made the choices that I did._

She looks down at her hands which are now almost raw from washing and curses herself for letting her thoughts distract her.

“I’m sorry I yelled earlier. It’s hard to see children so sick, and not having a solution.”

Phil Coulson has finished drying up his hands, and is now staring at her with a sincere smile upon his face.

She’s almost tempted to tell him that if thats the case, he picked the wrong occupation, but she holds her tongue.

“You were right though; his condition was still well enough for us to operate, and save his life.”

She’s mature enough to recognise her own faults and mistakes, and to apologise for her actions.

His gaze is still locked on her, and her own is directed to her hands, which are gripping the edge of the sink.

“Listen, this may be a little forward, but would you like to grab a coffee with me after rounds?”

She’s looking up at him now; he’s got a dopey little grin on his face, head tilted to one side as he studies her.

She closes her eyes for a second, and lets out a soft sigh.

“I’ve actually.. um, I’ve actually still got quite a bit to unpack so..”

She’s let the words drift off, and immediately, his smile has fallen.

“But, maybe next time?” she offers, and his face brightens once more as he nods.

“Next time.”

He holds the door open for her as they exit into the hallway; normally she’d hate that, but as they head off separately, she can feel a blush creeping its way up her cheeks.


	2. Something I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip is invited to a ladies night, and we meet one Dr. Captain Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Something I Need by One Republic

**Day 9:**

_When we’re children, we can’t tell the difference_   
_between what it is we want, and what it is we need._  
 _Want; it’s personal desire, the act of wanting is_  
 _foolish at times. Need; that’s strong, you need water to_  
 _survive, you need oxygen. Even as adults, there are_  
 _times we can’t distinguish between the two. Whether_  
 _that is something I want, or something I need, because_  
 _the lines can be blurred, and love, companionship, it can be both._

****  
  


“Next round’s on me!”

Melinda’s watching warily as Maria Hill, one of the general attendings, teeters drunkenly towards the bar, a stack of bills in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other.

They’re out at the bar across the street from the hospital, a couple of the female attendings.

‘A ladies night,’ Natasha had proclaimed earlier, grabbing her arm and practically dragging her out from her office before she had a chance to decline the invitation.

She’s been working at the hospital for a only little over a week now, but already finds herself fitting right in with other members of staff. They operate well together, and not just while in surgery. Shield Memorial has a highly functioning organisation system, and Melinda wonders again and again how she survived back at her old hospital.

Even the attending’s lounge is fancier here, and fully stocked with ‘necessities’ to help them get through long shifts.

Melinda’s not entirely sure how the whiskey, hidden in a secret compartment behind the cleaning supplies, is going to be of great help to anyone, even after Natasha insists that it’s done it’s share in helping save lives.

She now knows why Maria and Natasha, who by all means appear to be the laziest of all the attendings, volunteer to wash up when Peggy is around.

However, they’re all off the clock now, and not within hospital premises any longer, so they’re free to drink as much as they please. Which is exactly what the rest of the occupants of the bar have been doing since their arrival.

Melinda’s wary about getting intoxicated though, especially in public places, and has been slowly sipping at a glass of ice tea, just enjoying the company of her coworkers.

Beside her, Natasha is downing what appears to be her fifth or sixth shot of vodka, with no visible signs of being drunk. It doesn’t surprise Melinda at all; she’d caught Natasha multiple times during her intern days, doing up post-op notes with half a dozen or so empty beer cans littering her workspace.

The two neuro attendings, Vic and Bobbi, as Natasha had introduced to her on her first day, were currently DIY bartending, and mixing together a variety of drinks that they’d collected from the bar.

The only one from their ‘group’ who is missing is Peggy, who is back at the hospital working.

Trip is here though.

Sure, Natasha had said ‘ladies night’.

But the moment she had spied Trip heading to his car in the parking lot, she’d slung an arm around his shoulders and invited him to the party.

“Everyone is friends with Trip; you should see how nice the nurses are to him.”

And that was that.

As she nods along to the conversations of her fellow doctors, and rolls her eyes at the wolf whistles directed at Maria, who is currently sauntering back towards their table with a tray full of drinks, she finds her thoughts drifting.

Drifting to one co-worker in particular.

She and ‘Dr. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatrics’, haven’t really had a chance to hold a conversation for longer than five seconds since their argument and subsequent apologies on her first day.

She’s passed him in the halls a couple times, between rounds and surgeries, and they’ve even sat at the same table for lunch - but of course the rest of the attendings had been present also, and Natasha had demanded close to all of Melinda’s attention. No surprise there.

“May. Your ass is beeping.”

Snapping back to the present, Melinda is acutely aware of how Maria’s ear is right up against her thigh, eyes comedicly wide as she holds a finger to her lips, shushing everyone.

She’s about to tell Maria that she’s had way too many drinks, when she realises that it’s her pager that’s going off. It takes her another moment to realise all of their pagers are going off.

911.

This was the life of a surgeon.

She quickly downs the rest of her drink in one go, placing the glass back onto the table and slinging her handbag over one shoulder as she hops off the barstool.

Natasha appears as though she’s about to follow, until Melinda gives her a stern look.

“You think I’m going to let you treat a patient with half a bottle of vodka in your system? You can handle things here,”- she turns her head and eyes Maria warily- “and I’ll deal with the hospital.”

* * *

 

The ER is a bloody mess when Melinda enters nearly fifteen minutes later, having stopped by her office to change.

There are residents scrambling around, interns flocking behind them, all trying to get their hands on the ‘coolest surgical cases’, and as annoyed as Melinda is, she remembers a time not too long ago when she did the same.

“Dr. May.”

Dr.- formally Captain- Rogers, is waving her over to the ER nurses station, and she narrowly misses being run into by interns and gurneys at least three times before she’s standing beside him, pulling on a yellow gown.

She’s reaching behind to tie up the back when a pair of hands stop her. They’re large, male, and she feels an involuntary shiver run down her spine when his fingers brush against the skin on the back of the neck as he fastens up the tie.

“Thank you,” she says, turning to find herself practically face to chest with Phil Coulson.

She shuffles back a little; he’s wearing that same smile again, and she finds herself staring into his eyes. How could anyones’ be so incredibly blue?

“I thought you weren’t working tonight, but I’m glad you are.”

He’s flirting, but they’re standing in the middle of the ER, and she’s trying to be as professional as possible.

“Well you know, emergencies take precedence over sleep.”

She’s so thankful that she stood her ground all seven times Maria and Natasha had tried to offer her alcohol earlier.

He’s opening his mouth to respond when a loud cough comes from behind her, and she turns to find that Dr. Captain Rogers is watching them, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“Um sorry, I don’t want to interrupt anything, but there’s an ambulance two minutes out, and Dr. Banner, he’s at bed four, needs a cardio consult.”

Melinda nods, slipping back into work mode as he points towards the bed furthest from them.

“I guess I’ll see you later then.”

* * *

 

Melinda’s been awake for almost 48 hours now - with only one to two hour naps in between, and she’s exhausted.

There had been a five car pile up somewhere -the name escapes her now- and Shield Memorial, as the closest hospital, received all the cases. The ER was over-crowded and the ORs overbooked; a couple of the second and third year residents were assisting in surgeries way above their level on a account of the missing attendings.

She has the next day off, well technically it’s already past midnight, so she has ‘today’ off, and it’s a small comfort to know she’ll be able to sleep in. The alcohol should be drained from Natasha’s system by then, and she and the other cardio attendings can deal with whatever comes in.

She’s heading on up towards her office to collect her things when she hears a familiar voice from one of the patients rooms.

She pauses outside the room and listens as Phil Coulson speaks to his patient’s husband, likely explaining the procedures completed and what to expect during the recovery period. She doesn’t catch much of what he actually says, instead closing her eyes and appreciating how soothing and calming his voice could be.

“Spying on me are we?”

She forces her eyes open and finds him leaning on the wall beside her, appearing just as exhausted as she.

“I thought you were Dr. Phil Coulson, Head of Pediatric Surgery,” she says, lowering her voice; trying to match his.

He laughs at her feeble attempt and she smiles at him.

“Adults are just bigger versions of children. And it’s just Phil to you.”

She rolls her eyes at him and he just shrugs.

“So, we’re both off now. How about we go get that drink?”

It’s her turn to giggle and his face lights up at the sound.

“I believe I promised we could grab coffee. Which is definitely not what I need if I hope to fall asleep any time soon.”

As much as she wants to accept his offer, she is already having trouble keeping her eyes open, and Peggy is more than likely waiting upstairs to give her a lift home.

His expression screams disappointment, and he’s biting his lip and all Melinda wants to do is go over and give him a hug, but that’s really not her style.

“Next time?”

He’s looking at her with so much hope in those deep blue eyes, and she feels her cheeks heating up. Why does she keep doing that in his presence?

“Next time. I promise.”

And with that, she reaches over and squeezes his hand, warm, just like the day they had met, before letting go and heading down the hall.

“Goodnight Dr. May.”

She’s almost at the end of the corridor, preparing to turn a corner, but she stops and turns back to him.

“Melinda,” she corrects.

“Goodnight Melinda.”

“Goodnight, Just Phil.”


	3. Barbie Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is concerned that he's getting old, and Melinda learns about the Male Barbies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration: Barbie Girl by Aqua

**Day 14:**

_“I’m a barbie girl, in a barbie world.”_   
_Seriously, like do people forget about_   
_Barbie’s boyfriend Ken? He’s clearly_   
_as obsessive with his looks as she is,_   
_looks that aren’t too particularly natural,_   
_more than likely achieved via some form of_   
_plastic surgery._

“Melinda!”

It’s nearly eight in the morning, and she’s just finished rounding on her patients; two residents and their interns following closely behind.

So closely, that when she suddenly stops in her tracks at the sound of her name, they nearly walk straight into her. She turns at glares at them, and they all shuffle closer together and further away from her; she can hear them whispering, and catches the words “Melinda Mayhem.”

_I see Natasha’s been spreading rumours about me._

Rolling her eyes, she turns back around and Phil’s there, grinning as he hands her a coffee cup decorated with their hospitals logo.

“I told you that you didn’t have to keep bringing me coffee in the morning,” she says in mock annoyance as she begins down the hall with him by her side, her residents and interns following a safe distance behind.

“Well, you kept turning me down, so I thought the only way we would be able to get that drink was if I brought it to you,” he says, gently bumping her shoulder as they walk.

She just shakes her head at him, and holds her breath as she takes a large gulp, internally cringing as the aroma of coffee fills her senses.

He takes a sip of his and sighs blissfully and she’s tempted to just give the drink he handed her back, because she hates it and he seems to love it.

“You coming to Natasha’s party next week?”

“Natasha’s party? Isn’t it your birthday? And Steve’s?” she jokes, laughing until she turns and sees the expression he’s wearing.

The look he’s giving her is the most annoyed she’s seen appear on his face; she knows the feeling and almost regrets teasing him. Almost.

“Come on, I thought you of all people would be excited for your birthday,” she says, nudging his arm, and he sighs, almost dramatically.

“It’s just that every birthday that passes means I’m another year older; two more and I’ll be forty!”

She giggles at how ridiculous he’s being.

“So you’ll be thirty-eight in a couple of days. That’s hardly old.”

He pouts and it’s the most adorable expression that she’s seen, on a grown man no less.

“Easy for you to say. You’re all young and what-” he pauses and leans in closer, squinting, pretending to study her face- “like a teenager.”

She slaps his arm playfully.

“Thirty, but thanks.”

They continue their light hearted banter until his pager goes off, and he rushes off to tend to a patient; She can finally concentrate on working, ignoring the whispers of the interns as they trade gossip and rumours.

* * *

 

“Anything you want to say?” Natasha asks as she drops down into the seat beside Melinda, sliding a trayful of food onto the table.

“Yep. I don’t know why you always insist on bothering me at lunch. Your boyfriend is right there,” Melinda says, pointing in the direction of Clint Barton with her plastic fork, a cherry tomato speared on the end.

“Firstly, he’s not my boyfriend. Secondly, he has lunch with the male Barbies.”

Melinda looks at her with a raised brow - “The male Barbies?”

Natasha nods.

“The plastic surgeons. If you want to keep your IQ and surgical skills, you do not want to have lunch with the plastics. I swear Stark spends half the hour checking out his own reflection with his phone.”

“Are we talking about the male barbies?” Maria says, her question coming out more like a statement as she slides into the seat on the other side of Melinda. “Because Ward stood by a metal trash can for like, what five minutes yesterday, fixing his hair.”

They’re all staring at the four males sitting together at a table in the corner of the hospital cafeteria, and Melinda glances over each man. They appear to be having a regular conversation, just four co-workers having lunch together; but she suspects the topic in debate is one she’d rather not know.

“Ugh! Hunter keeps staring at my boobs. That ass.”

Bobbi slams her tray down in front of them, successfully capturing their attention and angrily takes a seat, turning to shoot a glare at anyone who dares to stare in their direction.

“Well maybe if you don’t-” Maria begins as she leans over the table and does up the top three buttons on Bobbi’s shirt “- parade around dressed like a slut, he won’t have any reason to look.”

“You’re one to talk. How many of the male nurses have you screwed this month alone?”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks. Don’t know what STDs you’ve got crawling around down there.”

Melinda doesn’t know if she’ll ever be accustomed to the ‘playful’ banter between her workmates, and just sits and eats her salad as the two continue on with their conversation.

“So. I heard the most interesting thing today after rounds. One of my little intern spies says that they saw you drinking coffee this morning. With Phil. And that you were laughing at his lame jokes. Care to elaborate?”

Natasha has a mischievous glint in her eyes, her head resting on her hands, elbows propped up on the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And the interns would never spy on me for you; not after you scared them off with all that Melinda Mayhem nonsense.” Melinda responds, not concerned in the slightest, holding up her palm in front of Natasha’s face as the younger woman opens her mouth to object.

“And don’t even try to deny it; you invented that name three days into your first year, right after I put you on scut for week”

Natasha lets out a loud huff, frowning at Melinda.

“You ruin all the fun. Fine. Clint’s been passing me the info. He says Phil hasn’t stopped talking about you since you got here.”

Melinda can feel her face reddening as Natasha speaks and almost looks away in embarrassment. Sure she hasn’t been in a proper relationship, in well, ever, but she’s known Phil for less than half a month, and he’s already breaking through her shell.

“I’ve known you for what, six years. We spent two of those years practically glued to one another - and I’d never heard so much as a whisper of even a casual fling. And now you’re here and shacking up with Phil?”

It’s probably childish, but Melinda drops her fork and presses her hands up against her ears, pretending that she can’t hear any of Natasha’s words. Her friend eventually gives up and goes back to her own food, casually sneaking glances over to Clint ‘not her boyfriend’ Barton.

* * *

 

“I thought you said that you had a major surgery in half an hour,” Melinda says, as she follows Maria through the halls, almost struggling to keep up with her.

“I do.”

They stop outside one of the many on-call rooms and Melinda watches in confusion as Maria proceeds to remove a bobby pin from her hair, morphing the shape and easing it into the lock.

“What the hell are you doing?” Melinda whispers, eyes wide, focusing her gaze at where Maria is silently picking the lock.

There’s a very soft click and Maria grin’s triumphantly, holding a finger to her lips to signal Melinda to stay quiet. Before she has any time to react, Maria takes a step back and kicks open the door.

“Fucking hell Hill, you bitch!”

Melinda finds herself breaking into laughter as Maria begins to almost hyperventilate from the amount of amusement that her actions have garnered.

Natasha and Clint appear to be very much nude, scrubs strewn across the room, and a thin bedsheet barely covering the two of them. Within seconds, Clint has gotten up, holding a pillow over himself as he heads over to the door and slams it shut.

Maria’s cackles echo through the entire hallway.

* * *

 

“Could you pass the chocolate?”

Melinda tries her best to ignore the residents sitting in the row behind her, trading snacks as they wait for the surgery in the operating room below to begin.

Maria didn’t go into the specifics, but she had assured Melinda that she would ‘enjoy the show’.

As Maria strolls into the OR followed by Natasha and Clint, Melinda understands the hidden meaning behind Maria’s words.

The surgery is major, but standard, and without complications, should take four hours to complete. Whilst Melinda prefers her OR to be mostly silent during procedures, she quickly realises this isn’t the case for Maria.

“So I’m going to thrust the clamp into the body cavity..”

“I’m stretching the opening now..”

“Don’t be afraid to stick it in a little deeper…”

She’s having trouble keeping her calm composure as Maria’s words come through the comms installed in the wall. She can’t make out Natasha and Clint’s replies, but from their expressions, they appear to be more than a little annoyed.

“Apply suction. Yep, suck it a little harder..”

There are loud snickers and cheers and clapping from behind Melinda each time Maria makes a comment, and she’s about to turn around to tell them to keep it down when someone takes the seat beside her.

“Dr. May.”

“Chief Fury. Surprising to see you here.”

The Chief of Surgery is sitting beside her, and they’re both watching as Maria continues to torment Clint and Natasha, the latter of whom as her hands buried wrist deep in a patient’s chest, trying to fix their heart.

“Maria paged me. Something about a show.”

Melinda doesn’t know how appropriate it is for two attendings, one of them being the Chief of Surgery no less, to be lounging around listening as one of their co-workers shoots out sexual innuendos like machine gun over a patient open on an operating table.

“Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this one.”

Well, evidently the notion of boundaries don’t exist Shield Memorial.

 


	4. Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha throw Steve and Phil a birthday party; both men are less than thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Maps by Maroon 5

**Day 23:**

 

_For the longest time, well ten years, give or take,_   
_I didn’t believe in fate. That it was destined for_   
_an event to occur, for two people to meet._   
_But then I was proved wrong. If you imagine your_   
_life upon a map; as a path. That path will meet_   
_others, and one day, eventually,_   
_merge with another._

 

Melinda’s finishing up with the last of her paperwork when there’s a knock on her door.

Peggy had told her earlier during the day that she would be by after rounds to pick her up for ‘Natasha’s’ party.

So when the door swings open and she’s standing there, dressed for a night out, Melinda’s not surprised.

She is surprised however, to see that Peggy isn’t alone.

Dr. Captain Rogers is right behind her, hands in his pockets and a friendly smile plastered on his face.

“You ready to go?”

Melinda does her best to keep her eyebrows at a normal level as she switches off her desktop, and grabs her bag from the ground where she had dropped it earlier. Walking towards the door, she turns back briefly to check that everything is in order, before switching the lights off and exiting, locking her office behind her.

“Explain?” she whispers to Peggy, as the three of them begin to make their way out to the car park.

Dr. Captain Rogers is a couple of steps ahead, keys jingling as he whistles a tune that Melinda can’t quite place.

“Steve is afraid that Natasha will ambush him if he’s left alone in her presence, so he waited for us. You know, to protect him from her.”

They share a laugh at their friend’s antics and Peggy proceeds to tell Melinda about a case that had come in earlier in the day. She’s wrapping up her story when they reach the car, and Dr. Captain Rogers is opening the door for them and ushering them in.

As he pulls out of the parking space less than a minute later and switches on the radio, humming along to the song that’s playing; Peggy is shaking her head in the back seat, Melinda thinks she can get used to spending time with friends.

* * *

 

It’s barely seven in the evening, but the party is in full swing when they arrive, and as Natasha drags them into the room, Melinda is nearly swallowed by the crowd.

The amount of young women that Natasha has managed to cram into Dr. Captain Roger’s penthouse apartment is almost unbelievable. Even with the air conditioner and fans on, Melinda finds herself taking off her jacket after spending just minutes inside.

The speakers are blaring; there’s a pretty fancy bar set-up in one corner, and a table full of food in another. Red, white and blue streamers and party lights have been hung along the walls, and a garish disco ball is hanging above a makeshift dance floor, reflecting light all around the room.

Melinda can hardly imagine what this apartment looks like normally, thanks to Natasha’s redecorating, and wonders for a brief moment where the rest of furniture has vanished to.

Looking around the room as she observes her surroundings, Melinda is relieved to see some familiar faces at least. Bobbi and Maria are by the bar, each with a drink in their hand as they watch the crowd of people grinding it out to the music.

“I’m surprised to see you’re not dancing Maria,” Melinda says, as she accepts a coke from Vic, who appears to be having a blast serving drinks.

“Only eligible bachelorettes who want a piece of Steve are allowed,” Maria responds, rolling her eyes. “Nat’s been trying to set him up with a girl since she met him; apparently he hasn’t gotten any action since before he left to join the army.”

Melinda eyes the crowd warily as she takes a sip from her glass, not recognising any of the girls.

There are very few men in the room, Melinda realises as she takes a more serious look around. A couple of the other department heads, Thor from Ortho, Bruce from Neuro and Stark from Plastics are chatting away on the far left of the room, appearing to show no interest at all to the plethora of ‘single ladies’ around. She can only assume Natasha threatened them to keep away to give Steve his best shot possible.

One song ends and another begins, and the crowd stills as Natasha drags Steve into the centre, and forces him to start dancing with some of the girls, slipping out before she herself, is trapped amongst the sweaty bodies.

“Aren’t I great?”

Natasha’s grinning from ear to ear as she joins them by the bar and empties a shot of tequila in the blink of an eye.

“How did you even find so many girls?”

“I have my methods.”

* * *

 

Only an hour has passed, but it feels like a lifetime, and Melinda is seriously considering giving up on her plan to stay sober the entire evening.

The pace hasn’t slowed down one bit, and Maria is now red-faced and dangerously close to passing out. Clint has taken over the role of the bartender, and Natasha has her hands full trying to keep Hunter away from the girls.

Melinda is leaning against a wall next to Peggy, who is drinking from a glass that was moments ago, filled to the brim, with rum.

Steve is dancing awkwardly with a young blonde, apparently having no idea what to do with his hands as she runs hers all over him. Seconds later she’s pulling him down for a very public make out session, his arms flailing slightly as she does, and Melinda feels a touch of second hand embarrassment for him.

She sneaks a glance over to Peggy; her friend is tense, knuckles white from how tight she is gripping her glass, a deep crease between her brows and her lips pursed.

Well, someone’s a little jealous.

Melinda can imagine she would be too, if it were Phil out there with all those girls, which is ridiculous, because that is not something she should be thinking about.

She hasn’t even seen him the past three days; the morning coffee drop offs had stopped, and as much as it pained her physically to drink a whole cup every morning, she would gladly endure it so long as he kept up his visits.

She’s acutely aware of how juvenile her thoughts are; he had been flirting with her - and she’s the one that turned him down twice. It’s entirely possible that he’s given up, just like any normal person would do.

She hasn’t even seen him all evening, which is strange, because Natasha had mentioned to her when they arrived that he was already there, before wiggling her eyebrows and giving Melinda a suggestive wink.

She doesn’t bother excusing herself when she slips away to search for a bathroom, because Peggy’s glaring at the blonde from earlier so intensely, Melinda fears the girl’s head may catch fire.

* * *

 

The rest of the apartment appears to be quite simple, from what Melinda has observed on her journey to the bathroom. As she exits, wiping her hands on her jeans, preparing to head back out into the war zone, she feels someone move up behind her.

Before she has time to react, a hand clamps over her mouth and she is being dragged into a room down the hall.

She’s released as the lights switch on and the door closes, and she spins around, ready to hit her abductor.

Phil catches her first with his hand a split second before it makes contact with his face, and she slaps him on the arm with her free hand instead.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Because by now, Natasha’s probably way too drunk to save my life.”

He laughs as he releases her hand, rubbing at the spot where she had hit him.

“I didn’t realise you were so violent,” he says, grabbing her wrist loosely, pulling her over to a couch on one side of the room and dragging her to sit down beside him.

“Well you, could have scared me to death,’” she responds, poking him in the chest with each word.

“For someone reason I don’t believe you. And even if I had, I would have performed CPR,’ he says, and she rolls her eyes in mock annoyance.

They fall into a comfortable silence for a while, just sitting together in what appears to be some sort of study. It’s obvious to her why Phil’s been hiding out in here- the atmosphere outside is insane.

“I haven’t seen you around the hospital these past few days..,” Melinda says, softly nudging Phil’s leg with her foot, tilting her head to look up at him.

“You should have told me you didn’t like coffee; I was so embarrassed after Natasha did.” he responds, brushing his knee against hers. “You didn’t have to drink it you know.”

He has a smile on his face again, this one’s different, it’s more bashful than she’s seen, and she imagines the one she’s wearing is similar.

“I know.”

He’s watching her with the most adorable expression, and she feels a warmth spreading around her under his gaze. “How about I return the favour and buy you a drink?”

“You do realise that you don’t have to pay for drinks here right.”

They both laugh as she shakes her head.

“I meant that we could slip out, go somewhere that’s not run by a crazy drunken redhead.”

She anticipates the response before he even has the chance to make it, and supposes that it’s his go at turning her down.

“It’s getting late, and I promised my daughter that we’d celebrate tonight,” he places a hand over hers’ as he speaks, eyes lighting up at the word _daughter_.

She knew Phil had a child, but he’d never brought it up in their conversations, so she’d never asked. But judging from the expression on his face, it is quite clear to her that they share a close relationship.

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, not accepting the apology.

“Don’t be ridiculous Phil,” she says, rising up from couch and offering her hand to drag him up. “It’s almost 8:30, you should head on home.”

He smiles at her like she’s the sun, and takes her hand in his as they make their way out of the room, through the party-goers, and outside into the hallway. They’re fortunate that only other person who lives on this floor happens to be Natasha, proud owner of the apartment across the hall, or else there was a high possibility of police showing up in a couple of hours.

“Pass me your phone.”

He does as he’s told and watches her intently as she enters her name and number into his contact details, smiling when she hands it back to him.

She hasn’t been this bold in a very long time; heck, she’s never actively sought a relationship before, but Phil, he’s different.

Wishing she’d taken a shot of vodka earlier, just for the courage, she leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger for a moment before softly whispering in his ear.

“Happy Birthday, Phil.”

 


	5. Count on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attendings have a betting pool and Maria really doesn't like the interns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Count on Me by Mat Kearney

**Day 28:**

 

_It’s easy to misjudge people if you don’t give yourself the opportunity to get to know them._   
_Having a misconception about someone can ruin a potentially great friendship._   
_I like to think that everyone is dependable, as long as you are willing to reciprocate._   
_It’s all about give and take. There’s that moment when you realise you can rely_   
_on them, you can trust and you say,_   
_“Hey, you know what? You can count on me too.”_

 

 

_[5:42 am] melindaaa- are you awake yet??_

_I am now [5:43 am]_

_[5:45 am] :( sorry!_

_Now that you’ve woken me up, maybe you’d like to tell me why [5:48am]_

_[5:51 am] im bored. theres nothing to do here_

_Aren’t you supposed to be on call right about now? [5:53 am]_

_[5:54 am] theres still 6 minutes till i can go home. 6 minutes._

_Really, Phil? [5:55 am]_

_[5:56 am] and i miss you. its so boring when youre not around_

 

Melinda never imagined she’d be the girl sitting up in bed at strange hours, smiling stupidly whilst receiving texts from the boy she liked. But here she is at thirty, blushing as she responds to messages from Phil.  

If it had been anyone else, she would have thrown her phone at the wall and then yelled at them the next chance she had, just for waking her up.

 

_Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you tonight. x. [6:00am]_

_[6:01am] okay see you then :)_

 

Placing her phone back onto her nightstand, Melinda pulls away her covers and slowly gets out of bed. The bright summer sun is already up, but her curtains catch most of the light, and for that, she’s more than thankful. Waking up with rays of sunlight streaming across your face is nowhere near as pleasant as they make it out to be in the movies.

The wooden floorboards are cool under her feet as she moves around her bedroom, preparing for the long day ahead. Steve is swinging by to give her a lift in just under an hour, because Peggy’s already at the hospital, and Melinda is seriously considering purchasing a car.

Because the move to D.C. had been so sudden, she’d left her old car behind in California. She didn’t even have the time to find someone to rent her apartment, before packing up the necessities and flying across the country.

Moving from L.A to D.C had been impulsive on her part, but the job offer was enticing, and Peggy was an old friend. An old friend who had not only procured her a new career opportunity, but also a place to stay and someone to turn to if things got tough.

Melinda’s still not entirely sure why Peggy owns three apartments within a one mile radius, but she doesn’t ask.

* * *

 

When Melinda pops in to the Attendings’ Lounge to grab a drink from the fridge after rounds, she’s surprised to see many of her coworkers sitting around the coffee table, and a pile of ten, twenty, fifty and hundred dollar bills lying between them.

“Do I even want to know what’s happening in here?”

Clint flashes her a grin as he types something up on his tablet, and Natasha pats the empty spot between her and Thor on the couch.

“We’re betting on how long it’ll take Morse and Hunter to get back together,” Clint says as he moves the pile of money towards him and begins to count. “You want in?”

Honestly, with all the other strange things that go on at this hospital, Melinda’s not too shocked about this particular one.

Melinda’s about to respond when Maria strolls into the room, and squeezes herself down between Trip and Mack, the ortho attending. Sticking her hand beneath her lab coat, she fishes out a fifty dollar bill and throws it at Clint.

“50 bucks says they’ll be back to screwing around in on call rooms by the 23rd.”

Clint’s entering her bet onto his device, and adding her money to the rest, double checking to ensure that he has not made any errors.

“Is this an activity that happens frequently?” Melinda turns to Natasha, before looking around at the other occupants of the room, and gestures at the money.

“Well, every time they break up, we bet on how long it’ll take them to get back together-.” Natasha begins, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

“And every time they get back together, we bet on how long it’ll take them to break up again,” Clint says as he begins to stash the money into an A4 envelope. “I keep the books and Hill does surveillance, you know, to determine the ‘status’ of the relationship.”

Sexual activity around the hospital, purposely interrupting said activity, sexual innuendos in the operating room following interruptions, betting on co-workers’ break-ups and make-ups; Melinda is genuinely curious as to whether they have time after all this to actually save lives.

“And Peggy and Fury are fine with all-” she casts her gaze down at the envelope and tablet lying in front of them- “this.”

“Peggy’s got a hundred on the 26th. Fury’s not playing this round - he lost two hundred last time, and his wallet is still recovering.”

Melinda struggles to keep her laugh down as she reaches into the pocket of her pants and fishes out a fifty dollar bill, generally reserved for emergencies, and slides it over to Clint.

“Fifty on the 29th.”

* * *

 

“Dr. May, don’t you look fetching today.”

Melinda ducks as Tony Stark, the leader of the male barbies, attempts to put his arm over her shoulder.

“Dr. Stark.”

There’s an evident tone of warning in her words, but he just smirks and she restrains herself from wiping the expression off his face with her right fist because it could make holding a scalpel later on in the day rather difficult.

“You needed a cardio consult?”

Realising that he probably isn’t going to get any sort of reaction from her, Tony grabs the chart and passes it over, switching into professional plastic surgeon mode as he runs Melinda through his surgical procedures.

As much as his overbearing personality appears to irk most of the attendings, Melinda has to admit that Tony is skilled in his field. He’s planning a facial reconstruction for a young boy who is to have a tumor removed from one side of his face; and he has evidently paid attention to the patient files.

“When are you planning to operate?”

The boy’s heart isn’t as strong as they’re hoping for, and now there’s a matter of whether the removal of the tumor and the facial reconstruction will happen over two longer surgeries, or a series of shorter ones.

Having no desire to put him under anesthesia and operate over a period of time, Bobbi had suggested bringing in someone from cardio to monitor his heart and restart it if it became necessary. After reviewing the patient history, Melinda most definitely agrees with Bobbi’s proposition.

“The first surgery is scheduled for this afternoon at five.”

“Page Natasha and tell her to meet you in there. I have something else to attend to.

* * *

 

“Remind me again why I agreed to help you on this.”

She and Maria are sitting in a corner table at the cafeteria, quietly observing the new flock of interns eating lunch together. They’re fresh out of medical school, wide eyed and clueless as to the real world, and it’s quite amusing to watch.

“Because I hate interns. Especially on their first day. New interns are the worst.”

Melinda is about to respond when one of the side doors open and Phil walks in. He looks around for a moment before he sees them and makes his way over.

“Why does Maria look like she’s a hawk about to eat the new interns?” he asks as he sits down beside Melinda and takes her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“She’s doing the intern appy tonight,” Melinda responds, and he nods knowingly.

“Picked your guy yet?”

They watch the interns for a moment, and Melinda’s looking carefully over each of them. There really is no telling how their surgical skills are without seeing them in the operating room. There’s loud jeering and laughter, and Melinda turns to the other end of the table to find one of the interns, a boy with curly brown hair and a baby face, has opened up a can of soda and spilled it all over himself.

Melinda looks over at Maria and finds her smiling- well, there’s no other way to put this- evilly.

“I have now. Man, this kid will probably wet his pants in the OR”

Melinda and Phil are both shaking their heads softly as Maria gets up and heads over to the ‘intern table’. They grow silent as she nears, all anticipating her choice. Melinda can almost feel the shock radiating off them as Maria clamps a hand down onto the shoulder of the boy drenched in orange soda.

“As you all know, the honor of performing the first surgery is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. Fitz, you’re scrubbing in with me for an appendectomy this evening.”

The intern, ‘Fitz’, who still has soda dripping from his hands, his pale blue scrubs stained orange, looks even more shocked than his companions, who all begin to badger him as Maria walks away from the table and back towards Melinda and Phil.

“I leave you two for what, five seconds and you’re already cosying up,” she says as she reaches them, picking up her water bottle and coat as she makes gagging noises, before heading towards an exit.

Melinda turns to Phil, and he’s doing the same, and their noses brush for a split second before they both jump back slightly. His arm had somehow wound it’s way around to the back of her chair, and she had leaned into his side without either of them noticing.

He quickly removes his arm, and his face has adopted a reddish hue and she can’t help it as she reaches over takes his hand and slowly lets their fingers lace together.

 


	6. Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy is annoyed with Steve, and Melinda and Phil go out for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Dark Side by Kelly Clarkson

**Day 35:**

 

_Everybody has their secrets. Things that they keep_  
_to themselves, or share only with those closest to them._  
_Secrets about the past, to me, those are the scariest._  
_You keep them bottled up, hidden away, as if they are a_  
_dark side to you, one that you’re afraid others can’t accept._

 

It’s nearly nine in the morning and Melinda’s been up for close to two hours now. She spent the first hour reading through some patient files, and the second practically ransacking her closet for something to wear.

She had the entire day off, a luxury that didn’t come too often, and sleeping in until seven was most definitely a rarity. Peggy had invited her out for brunch at a little book and coffee shop hybrid, and it’s only now that Melinda realises she has nothing to wear for that sort of environment.

She has dress shirts in several variations, styles and colours, and a large selection of pants and skirts for work. A couple of jackets, mostly leather, and half a dozen monochromatic blazers reserved for important meetings or interviews.

But comfortable clothing for a day off? She has almost nothing to choose from and sets herself a mental reminder to agree to tag along with Natasha the next time she decides to go shopping.

Sighing, she reaches into the back of her wardrobe and pulls out a two-layered cream coloured dress, either silk or satin on the bottom, she doesn’t know the difference, and lace over top. She’s pretty sure that her mother bought it for her, for some function probably almost fifteen years back, and she doesn’t know why she brought it along with her, because she hasn’t worn it since then.

Stripping off her tank top and leggings, Melinda slips the dress on, and reaches around the back to zip it up. It’s a little tighter around the bust area than she remembers, and as a result, a little shorter than it could be, but it still appears to fit her fine.

Smoothing down the front, she slides the wardrobe closed and inspects herself in the mirror that makes up the door. Alright, it’s even shorter in the back, and she’d rather it weren’t, but Peggy will be by soon and she’s not bothered, nor does she have the time, to look for another outfit.

She’s finished with her make-up and is slipping on a pair of red flats, the same shade as her lipstick, when the doorbell rings. Grabbing her purse from her bed and sticking her phone inside, Melinda hurries through the apartment to the door, and opens it up.

“You know you could just let yourself in. You have a key.”

Peggy’s outfit screams sophistication as usual, a white dress shirt paired with a floral skirt and strappy sandals.

“I don’t know what they teach you here in America, but in England, it’s customary to ring the doorbell or knock, and wait for someone to let you in,” Peggy responds, and her voice is dead serious, but the playful expression in her eyes shows that she is making a joke.

“You have dual citizenship. You’re by all means part American,” Melinda jibes as she steps out into the hall beside Peggy and locks the door behind them.

“Where’s Steve?” she asks, looking up and down the hallway and then back to Peggy, who  had mentioned a couple days ago that Steve was coming along with them - it was his favourite shop, and he too had a day off.

“He’s waiting in the car. And it’s the British part that counts.”

* * *

 

There’s an odd sort of tension in the air - it’s constricting, uncomfortable, and Melinda cautiously peers over the worn out copy of _Emma_ she is only half reading at this point.

They’re sitting around an old wooden table, carved with intricate patterns and painted white. Melinda and Peggy each have a steaming cup of tea sitting in front of them, and Steve is on his second mug of coffee.

There’s an elegant metallic stand between the three of them, half-filled with finger sandwiches, french pastries and sweets. The scones are all gone, the only remnants are the crumbs all over Peggy’s plate.

To a stranger, they appear to be three friends individually enjoying a brunch whilst sitting together, but Melinda knows better. Peggy’s angrily thumbing through a book titled _How to Kill Your Husband (and other handy household hints)_ , and Steve’s got a copy of _How to talk to Women_ , and appears to be taking notes on a small worn out leather bound notebook he brought along.

Melinda doesn’t know whether she should be amused or concerned. Peggy and Steve have a very long history, just as long and much likely deeper than the one she and Peggy shared.

She and Peggy had met in Melinda’s final year of medical school, when Peggy was a third year resident on exchange from the UK, and occasionally doing demonstrations for their classes. Melinda was several years younger than the rest of her class; she had found she didn’t particularly fit in, and kept herself pretty much secluded from the other students.

Peggy had been there for her when she was at the biggest crossroad of her life, stood by her, through what she still considers the hardest nine months of her life, and held her hand afterwards whilst everyone else was busy passing their judgements.

But Peggy and Steve had met a year before that, when she was getting field medic experience in Iraq. Steve had been stationed there at the time, and Melinda doesn’t know much more about their history, only that Peggy played a huge part in Steve becoming a trauma surgeon after his tour ended.

They’ve probably been through a lot worse together than Melinda can even imagine, but here they are, sitting in a little library/cafe clearly annoyed with one another.

Well, Peggy’s clearly ticked off at Steve.

Steve just looks confused.

* * *

 

“Hey, wow..you look..wow.”

Phil wants to smack himself on the head as he rises and pulls out a chair for Melinda before going back to his own seat. She just smiles prettily at his bumbling words, appearing as though she doesn’t have a single problem with his lack of eloquence and coherence.

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head and smiles, concentrating.

“What I meant to say was that you looked beautiful. The nerve connection from my brain to my tongue must be in danger of severing. Or there could be a tumor pressing up against my frontal lobe.”

His joke is terrible, but her eyes light up and she laughs like its the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“We’ll just have to get Bruce to give you an MRI then,’ she responds, still smiling widely.

The waitress has just arrived at their table to take their orders, and has likely caught the last snippets of their conversation, because her expression is of both confusion and judgement.

It’s not really her fault though; most regular customers don’t discuss medicine related topics over lunch. It’s likely she is new, because this diner is two only blocks down from Shield Memorial and frequented by hospital staff on their breaks, and most of the workers here have adapted to it.

Melinda’s never visited this diner before, but Phil comes here often enough, so she lets him order for her. He quickly scans the menu, which he had ignored up to this point, and picks the ‘Four Seasons Salad’ for them to share.

The term salad, is used very loosely in the case of this dish.

Spring, is green; lettuce, cucumbers, avocado, spring beans, snow peas and zucchini dressed with freshly squeezed lime juice.

He watches with amusement as she picks out the cucumber and avocado pieces and slides them to his side of the plate.

She smiles at him as he finishes them off.

Summer, is full of colour. Grilled chicken breast with cherry tomatoes, red onions, arugula, mangoes and pomegranate seeds.

He’s stopped eating and is just watching her, and she notices as she spears another piece of chicken, lifting it to her mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He shrugs, still watching her intently.  

“I never really liked the summer salad. It’s my daughter’s favourite though.”

She smiles and nudges him under the table with her foot.

“You’re such a dad.”

He huffs and pretends to be offended, but he can’t keep it up, especially when she’s looking at him with such admiration.

Autumn, is like the fall. Penne pasta in a garlic and basil pesto, with red and yellow bell peppers, sundried tomatoes, and chilli flakes.

It’s a little spicy, and his entire glass of water is drained by the time they’re finished, but she just gently wipes her mouth with a napkin and smirks at him.

Winter, is hearty. Grilled pumpkin, squash and potatoes with chopped up bits of bacon, chives and pickles, all drenched in a thick creamy sauce.

He pays the bill before she even has a chance to object, and she frowns at him and slaps softly on the arm as they rise.

She pretends to be mad but can’t keep it up as he opens the door for her when they exit. She slips her hand into his as they head down the street and it may be a slight exaggeration, but he feels as though he is the luckiest man to walk the earth right about now.

He hails her a cab to take her home, and she leaves him standing on the curb with a goofy smile on his face and a bright red lipstick stain on his cheek.


	7. We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda is given a crash course by Steve and then a long winded lecture thanks to Maria and Clint, and Bobbi and Lance get back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together by Taylor Swift

**Day 44:**

 

_So, there are those people in your life._  
 _The ones you love to hate and hate to love._  
 _Today you might say, I can’t stand being away from_  
 _you for even just a minute, and then tomorrow,_  
 _it’ll be like, we are never ever getting back together.  
_ _Never. Ever._

 

“Steve!”

Melinda’s standing directly behind him when she calls his name, a little louder than necessary, and he jumps nearly a foot into the air. Natasha’s covering her surgeries and patients for the morning, and she’s down in the ER, finally having time to properly familiarize herself with the layout of the place.

She’s been working at Shield Memorial for just under a month and a half now, but Natasha and the other cardio attendings have been taking most of the calls from the ER giving her a chance to adjust to the rest of the hospital first.

Emergency rooms didn’t differ too much between hospitals; the patients that were admitted there were pretty much standard across the world, but the procedures, chain of command, setting and finer details varied greatly.

“Melinda. Did you want to have to open me up and dig around in my chest?” Steve says, hand over his heart.

“Sorry-” she says laughing, -”That came out a little louder than I meant for it to.”

Steve lets out a sigh and gestures for her to follow him as he begins his way around the room. The beds are all full, but none of the cases are very emergent, and it’s actually quite calm in here compared to the last time.

“We tried upgrading to an electronic system to chart last year, but that didn’t work out very well. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer everything on paper; that way we don’t have computers making mistakes on top of all the human errors.”

One of the four trauma rooms is in use; the lights are on inside but the blinds are closed; the other three empty.

“If possible, we try to move emergent patients into the OR to have surgery immediately, but in the case where the ORs are fully booked, or there isn’t enough time, basic procedures can be performed in the trauma rooms. Peggy opened a guy up in there and packed his abdomen last year; saved his life.”

Melinda can hear the admiration in Steve’s voice as he speaks about Peggy, his eyes light up a little and goofy smile forms on his face, and if she were Natasha, she’d definitely tease him about it.

They’re back at the ER nurses station, and Steve is explaining the admittance procedures, and how to proceed if steps need be skipped- should an emergency require it. Some of the information is not essential, but Melinda listens patiently as he gives her a run down.

He’s extremely detailed, especially when going on and on about how the ER nurses know the place inside and out, from top to bottom, but Steve doesn’t need to tell her twice to stay on their good side. He even takes the time to take her outside and show her the ambulance bay; it’s raining and she has a feeling it may become crowded in the next couple hours.

* * *

 

“So, heard you were banging the new Cardio Chief.”

Phil suppresses a groan as Stark attempts to engage him in a conversation as they operate on a young boy.

“Do you really think that’s an appropriate topic for the OR?”

He can see the smirk that Stark is wearing, even beneath his surgical mask, and if the life of a child weren’t in their hands, he’s embarrassed to admit that he’s seriously considering sticking a scalpel into his gloved hand.

“You can’t blame me for being interested. We haven’t seen you with anyone since your divorce from, wait what’s her name again? The cellist? What like, during your fellowship?

Phil’s dead set on ignoring him now; how one man could be so incredibly annoying, he does not know.

* * *

 

“So, what’re we all talking about?”

Melinda beams at Phil as he pulls up a chair to their table, and Natasha immediately scoots over to give him space. They’re a full house today, even half of the male barbies have joined them; and everyone missing is probably either doing their jobs or sleeping somewhere.

“We were just about to give Melinda a history lesson on Tony and Thor. You’re not a part a proper employee of Shield Memorial until you’ve been inducted with the story” Maria says, taking a huge bite out of her steak sandwich.

Melinda rolls her eyes and sighs, giving the group all her attention, and they begin their lecture, which appears to be a perfectly well rehearsed speech crafted by Maria and Clint.

“Stark’s inbred.”

“Like, royally inbred.”

“His dad, Howard Stark, made the greatest advancements in medicine back in his day.”

“And he founded Shield Memorial-”

“-And the Stark Industries Foundation.”

“Which Tony now heads. They fund a majority of the hospitals’ research.”

“So if you ever need a loan, Tony’s the guy to ask.”

Melinda just nods as they speak rapidly, and perfectly in sync with one another, and can only imagine how many times they’ve put people through this. They’re still yammering on about Howard Stark’s greatest achievements, but she begins to lose interest because Phil’s hand is on her knee, and he’s drumming out a repetitive pattern with his fingers.

“Earth to Melinda. Phil, stop distracting her, this is an initiation, it’s tradition!”

Melinda smirks as Phil’s hand stills, and looks up meet Maria’s gaze.

“Alright then, finish up your story.”

Maria appears extremely annoyed, and rolls her eyes to the ceiling before continuing as though Melinda is the one who is eager to listen and she’s being forced to speak.

“You know Asgard, like, the most medically advanced hospital in all of Europe?”

“It’s run by Thor’s father, Odin. He’s as much of a legacy as Howard Stark.”

“He did his residency there, and we’re lucky to have him.”

“Because he is an ortho god.”

“Breaks bones and fixes them like it’s nothing.”

Maria and Clint clearly have an immense admiration for Thor, as opposed to the slight disdain in their voices when speaking about Tony.

“Are we done here?”

As interesting as the extended history of her co-workers may be, Melinda would much rather spend her lunch break actually eating lunch. The other attendings are all on their phones as they eat, clearly having heard the tales of Tony and Thor a thousand times before today.

Satisfied that they’ve finished their neverending history lesson Maria and Clint finally find something else to entertain them, and Melinda’s more relieved than ever. She casts her gaze back towards Phil, who is half-way through a bite of what appears to be a ham and cheese sandwich.

She smiles at him between forkfuls of her pasta, and shifts her leg over slightly so it presses against his. He nudges her foot with his, and she knocks hers right back against his.

“Are you two playing footsie under the table?!”

Melinda and Phil both freeze, and daren’t look up, until they realise that Natasha is not speaking to them.

It sounds comical, but Natasha has just leapt out of her seat and has a hand over her mouth, which was seconds before, gaping open. She’s waving her hand, finger pointed, between Bobbi, who is sitting beside her, and Lance, across the table, both of whom appear to be thoroughly embarrassed.

Natasha doesn’t get the opportunity to publicly shame them to their faces for much longer, because in perfect harmony, they pick up their trays, rise from their seats, dispose of said trays, and make a hasty exit from the cafeteria.

“Alright. Who had the 29th of July as their pick?”

Clint whips out his tablet out of thin air, and taps his fingers at various spots around the screen, before furiously scrolling. His face lights up in an eerie grin as he finds the information that he’s looking for, the screen brightness casting a white glow beneath his chin.

“May! You’re the winner.”

Melinda is honestly surprised; she hasn’t won a single thing her entire life to date. She’s not sure how much money Clint has managed to collect from various hospital staff, but judging from the amounts that the attendings alone put in, it’s quite a hefty sum.

“Beginners luck?” she says, laughing.

She feels a little awkward as everyone congratulates her, but their attention spans are short, and before long, Clint’s standing up on his seat and making an announcement to the entire room.

“Okay people. Morse and Hunter are back together. Spread the word. Bets for how long it’ll take them to break up will be accepted from tomorrow morning. Either find Hill or me if you want in.”

Whilst there’s a small part of her that feels bad about the fact that the entire hospital is placing bets on the status of Bobbi and Lance’s relationship, Melinda can only assume that it’s another Shield Memorial tradition.

She doesn’t have any longer to ponder the ethics or morality of winning money off the premise or demise of a coworker’s relationship, because she was definitely right earlier about the weather bringing in an onslaught of cases.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

It’s as if half the pagers in the room are going off at one time, and their lunches and lunch time conversations are forgotten about as they hurry off to the ER.

Running down the halls with her fellow attendings by her side, Melinda realises that Shield Memorial has finally begun to feel like home.

 


	8. Enjoy the Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil brings Melinda lunch, and then Melinda, Tony and Bruce operate together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Enjoy the Ride by Krewella

**Day 48:**

_When you make a commitment to something,_  
 _someone, a job, a career, a family member,_  
 _a lover, you have to be ready. Ready for whatever_  
 _may come at you. Whether it’s easy or hard,_  
 _how much you love it, or hate it, you made a promise.  
_ _So just close your eyes, and enjoy the ride._

 

“You know, they’re called lunch breaks for a reason.”

Melinda’s almost buried beneath a mountain of paperwork in her office; her wrists are beginning to ache from writing and her fingers are tiring from all the typing. When she’d imagined her life as the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, she did not envision the workload that came with the pay raise.

“Phil.”

He’s standing in her doorway with a bag full of take-away boxes in one hand and a cross between a pout and a frown on his face. She sighs and stands up behind her desk, feeling the muscles in her back tense slightly as she does. Sitting in one position for too long tends to do that to her.

His frown morphs into a smile as he steps into the room, shutting the door behind him and making his way over to her desk.

“Sorry, it’s all bit cluttered in here,” she says, looking down at the mess littering her desk, trying to figure out how on earth she could shuffle the files around to clear some space.

“Well, we’ll just have to make do with the floor until you decide to get some more furniture,” he says, laughing, and she’s convinced that he’s only joking, until he sets the food onto the ground and sits down right beside the bag.

Stepping around her desk, she finds that Phil’s casually lounging, resting back on his arms with his legs straight in front of him, and sighing softly, she kicks off her shoes and joins him.

“I can’t believe we’re sitting on the floor of my office, eating lunch,” she says, trying to remember the last time she’d done something like this.

He just shakes his head, reaching into the bag to pull out a couple of boxes, taking off the lids and setting them down between them. He can’t take his eyes off her as she eats, but she hasn’t seemed to notice his lingering gaze.

“Melinda,” he admonishes as she reaches up and pulls a file off her desk. “Stop working and just take a break.”

“I have a surgery with Stark this afternoon, and if I don’t finish all my paperwork; it’ll just keep building up,” she sighs, opening up the folder and beginning to read through the documents inside.

She doesn’t turn to him, concentrating on the pages and words in front of her, but she can feel him inching closer, and within moments he is directly by her side, his arm pressed up against hers.

He reaches for her abandoned spork and spoons up some cous-cous, carefully lifting it up towards her mouth. She rolls her eyes at his insistence, but opens up her mouth anyway and allows him feed her.

“You have to eat,” he says quietly, feeding her another sporkful. “Or I’ll worry.”

She tenses up at his words, and takes a deep breath as she closes up the file and places it down onto the ground beside her. He stops in his movements too, letting the spork drop back into the box as she turns to face him.

The only thing she can see in his deep blue eyes is concern, concern for her, and it ignites  feelings within her that she can’t explain. She wraps her arms loosely around his neck as she buries her face against his shoulder, feeling the warmth radiate from his body.

He appears stunned for several seconds, unmoving, until she moves even closer beside him and closes her eyes against his skin, humming softly. He lets his arms wrap around her waist and he can feel her warm breath just beneath his ear.

“You’re distracting me from my work,” she mumbles, but the tone in her voice is not one of annoyance, but one of fondness.

“Good.”

* * *

 

So, she hasn’t managed to complete all of the paperwork that she hoped, but she can do it later on in the day, and through the evening if need be.

The surgery she has with Tony ‘pain in the behind’ Stark now takes precedence, and she can see him joking around with the nurses as she scrubs in.

“Melinda. I thought Natasha would be joining us, but it seems we’ve been given an upgrade.”

Bruce is scrubbing in beside her, offering a friendly smile.

“Nat’s doing a heart-lung transplant in OR 2. But I could say exactly the same for you Bruce. Stark told me Bobbi was out sick; I’d assumed Vic would be replacing her.”

“She’s clipping an aneurysm in OR 6.”

“I was surprised that Stark needed someone from Neuro in here,” Melinda says, nodding towards the operating room.

“Bobbi couldn’t get the entire tumour out before his heart began to give out during the last surgery. Natasha pulled the plug and she had to close him up,” Bruce relays, shaking the excess water from his hands and holding them up in front of him, letting the liquid run down his arms.

“We gave him two weeks to recuperate, and I’ll try to get the rest of it out today so Tony can start the reconstruction. Judging by the state of his heart, it’s likely he’ll need at least another two surgeries after this one,” Bruce says, gaze downcast as he heads into the OR, Melinda closely behind.

The nurses assist them into their gowns as they each pull on a pair of gloves.

“Bruce. Ready for the party?” Tony exclaims as they make their way over to the operating table.

Their patient is lying there, eyes wide open under the bright lights. He doesn’t seem afraid, but children are generally the most resilient.

“Sure am. Ready to be tumor free, kid?”

The boy smiles and nods the best that he can in his position.

“When you wake up, you might even be as good looking as me,’ Tony says as he stands over the kid, cracking his knuckles.

His statement is as egotistical as they come, but Melinda can see that it’s not for his own benefit, but to help settle their patient’s nerves, however little they may be, before they put him under.

Bruce waves the anaesthesiologist, Dr. Sitwell, over, and together they ease a small mask over the boy’s face.

“Okay Ace. Can you count backwards from twenty for us?”

His breathing slows down and his eyes flutter shut when he gets to sixteen. Tony pulls at his gloves and lets them snap back against his skin, before looking around the operating room, up into the viewing area, and then back down.

“Alright people. It’s a beautiful day to, well, make people beautiful.”

* * *

 

The surgery is a success, and Tony manages to complete stage one of his reconstruction before they call it a day and stitch the kid back up. His heart rate had plummeted only once, towards the end of the surgery, but Melinda had just signalled one of the residents to administer a dosage of epinephrine and all was well.

They had finished earlier than scheduled, which she took as a fortunate turn of events, because she still has a weeks worth of paperwork to complete before more and more pile onto her desk.

She feels energized after the surgery; like she’s taken a shot of caffeine, without all that coffee nonsense, and speeds through all the files and documents, surprising herself when she manages to finish before eight in the evening.

It’s officially after work hours now, and with all her paperwork completed and nothing left to occupy her at the hospital, she could very well pack up, hail a cab and go home. But Phil had mentioned he had a three hour surgery that started at six in the afternoon, and something compels her to go watch.

The viewing area for OR 1 is empty, deserted, and the only source of light comes from the operating room below.

Phil’s finishing up with a bowel resection on a three year old, and is speaking to the interns crowded behind him, likely explaining the procedure he is following. His hands are quick and steady, and he pauses after each step to give the interns an opportunity to have a closer look at his methods.

After completing his task, he places the medical instruments in the metal tray an OR nurse is holding out for him, stepping back to allow a fourth year resident to step in and close the patient up. Stripping off his gloves, he heads outside to scrub out, and Melinda rises from her seat and leaves the viewing area.

She’s down outside OR 1 in less than two minutes, and she knows that Phil is still in there, so she leans against the wall and waits for him to exit. The door opens and he steps out, a deep frown in his face and exhaustion wearing down on him, but as soon as he turns and sees Melinda, his eyes light up and a smile breaks out.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Finished your paperwork?” he asks, moving beside her.

Her hand slips into his, almost automatically, as if it were some sort of reflex, and she can definitely remember a time, less than two months ago where this amount of close contact with another person had made her uncomfortable.

She nods softly, leaning her head against his shoulder.

They’ve both been awake for at least twenty hours, and he looks as if he could fall asleep on his feet at any moment.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride home,” he says, nudging her arm, and she’s too tired to object, so she lets him pull her along with him down the hallway, hands clasped together between them.


	9. Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Lance have broken up... again, Phil has a bad day and Tony has a wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Bad Day by Daniel Powter

**Day 53:**

 

_Bad days. They happen to everyone; all the time._   
_They’re named for a reason; they’re terrible, and_   
_sometimes you just don’t want them to continue,_   
_you want it to all end. Or you want to stop time,_   
_so it doesn’t happen again. It gets better._   
_It always gets better. And when you find someone,_   
_someone to be with you, to help you through it,_   
_well, then it’s not so bad anymore is it?_

 

In all her years working at hospitals, whether it be during her residency, fellowship, or time as an attending, Melinda has never scrubbed in beside a doctor with a vocabulary quite as colourful as Bobbi Morse’s.

“Fucking asshole, stupid piece of shit.”

“Hope the stupid son of a bitch gets run over.”

“Should have castrated his sorry ass when I had the chance.”

Melinda sneaks a glance over at Bobbi who is scrubbing her hands so hard that she’s probably taken off most of her skin. She’s muttering angrily under her breath, but Melinda has excellent hearing; she does however, have no intention of pointing out that castration is performed on the male organ that lay on the other side of the body.

“You alright?” Melinda asks, removing her hands from the sink, letting the tap stop running.

“Are you asking out of the concern of my well being, or are you just afraid that I’ll go in and accidently perform a hemispherectomy on our guys brain?”

“A bit of both. But I’m sure if you take half his brain out, it won’t be an accident.” Melinda responds, and she smiles as her statement draws a grin from Bobbi, who had up to this point, looked like she was about to murder someone.

They enter the OR together; the patient having already been put under anaesthesia, and a pair of residents working on stemming the bleeding wound in the man’s chest.The residents step aside and assist as Melinda and Bobbi head over and proceed to open him up.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Hunter anyway?”

Melinda is aware this is probably the worst time possible to ask such a question; she has her hands around their guy’s heart, trying to feel for a tear, and Bobbi’s got his skull flap open and is probing around inside, but she won over three grand betting on their relationship, which she knows next to nothing about.

“He’s my ex-husband.”

Well that certainly explained a lot. Up until this point, Melinda had only assumed that they were just a couple with a volatile on again, off again relationship. Being married probably intensified things.

“What happened?”

“He picked plastics. Wanted to go the private route; make more money that way,” Bobbi sighs, and she sounds more upset than angry now.

“But he works here, doesn’t he?”

“He says he stayed for me; won’t let me forget it.”

“And your relationship now?” Melinda asks, mentally fist pumping as her fingers find the small rip on the right side of the heart.

“We have trouble spending extended periods of time together. He thinks that the longer he’s with me, the more I manipulate him. One moment he’ll be apologising, telling me that he wants to give us a shot, and then the next I’m the devil and he’s making out with interns in supply closets.”

Melinda nods sympathetically at Bobbi’s recount of her complicated relationship with her ex as she sutures the tear and removes her hands from within his chest. She motions for one of the residents to step in and close up, and strips off her bloody gloves, disposing of them.

“Maybe you should hold off on the castration in case you guys get back together,” she calls as she heads towards the exit to scrub out.

There’s a fifty-fifty chance Bobbi will be offended, but as the neurosurgeon lets out a snort, Melinda grins.

* * *

 

“Does Stark try to get into everybody’s pants around here?”

Melinda’s sandwiched between Natasha and Maria at the attendings table, and watching as Tony Stark chats to a pair of residents, slinging his arm over the shoulder of one as he winks at the other.

For once, Natasha’s preoccupied, engaged in a conversation made up entirely of hushed whispers and eyerolls with Clint, so the question falls only to Maria’s ears.

“Nope.”

Melinda raises a brow.

“Then what’s with all the flirting?”

“He’s an egotistical son of a bitch, that’s why.”

Melinda lets out a sound akin to snort and Maria gives her a look.

“Are you seriously telling me that none of the nurses, interns or residents I’ve seen him cosying up against have slept with him?”

“Well I bet they’d like to - he’s rich, got an ugly mug, but rich,” Maria says as she chews on her sub, crumbs flying everywhere.

“So you’re trying to tell me that he doesn’t sleep with any of them?”

“Yup.”

Melinda’s beyond confused.

“Is he gay?”

Maria almost chokes on her iced coffee, and Melinda cringes as some of it comes running out of her nose. Reaching over to the centre of the table, she grabs a napkin and tosses it at Maria, who proceeds to wipe away the mess.

“He’s not gay, He’s married.”

Melinda is glad that she reached for her water bottle a second too slowly, or it’d be her turn to do a spit take.

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Maria’s smirking, in a self-satisfied way and Melinda’s pretty sure that the other woman is messing with her.

“No way.”

“Twenty bucks says he is.”

“Deal.”

Melinda is about to press her for more information when Maria’s pager goes off.

“Gotta go. Duty calls. I’ll take that twenty bucks in cash, or alternatively you can wire it into my account.”

And with that, Maria dashes off, leaving a half eaten Italian sub and an empty ice coffee container behind.

* * *

 

“Phil. I saw your name on the OR board. Don’t you have a surgery in less than twenty minutes?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Melinda is confident that Phil knows what she’s actually trying to ask him; why on earth had he waltzed into her office when he should have been preparing for a surgery?

She’s cross-legged on her little couch; it’s brand new - instead of waiting for the hospital to approve an application for furniture - she’d went out and bought it herself with a portion of her prize money from the bet. She’s pretty sure that Vic won this time round, having predicted that Bobbi and Lance would break up yesterday.

“I still have time. And I missed you.”

She smiles at how ridiculously adorable he is, and gestures for him to come over and sit beside her. He closes the door to her office and walks the two steps to the couch, sinking down into the cushions next to her. His footsteps are heavy, and he’s tense and Melinda can immediately sense that something is wrong.

“Rough day?”

He nods and she reaches over, placing her hand onto his knee.

“We lost two full term newborns in the nursery today, and another preemie in the NICU. The kid I’m operating on today has already gone through nine surgeries, but he isn’t getting better and…”

He stops talking and lets out a soft sigh. Melinda knows first hand that Phil is more optimistic than most surgeons, and to see him this defeated is hurting her too.

She reaches for him, and he slumps against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she rubs soothing circles onto his back. She’s not a comforting person, it’s not in her nature, but holding him, it’s almost instinctual.

He’s breathing deeply, and she pulls away, fearing that he might begin to hyperventilate. She places a hand on his cheek and looks into his eyes, smiling when he nuzzles her fingertips.

“You smell nice.”

She blushes and gently flicks his cheek, shaking her head at him.

“It’s been a terrible day, but seeing you, even for just-” he looks up at the digital clock hanging on her wall- “ten minutes makes it better.”

There’s a warm fuzzy feeling spreading from the pit of her stomach; he’d come to see her because he was having a bad day.

Because he was convinced that she could help him.

Melinda had given up hope of someone coming to her for help, emotionally, nearly ten years ago. But here Phil is, telling her that she makes his day better; not in those exact words, but she can read between the lines.

Having someone depend on her, it’s an amazing feeling.

She could have had that before, but she was the one who had given it up, and for that, she could blame no one but herself.

* * *

 

Melinda’s sitting in the Attendings’ lounge with Natasha, discussing how to proceed with a difficult cardio case. It’s not a particularly serious discussion, mainly because Clint is asleep on the couch opposite them, and Natasha keeps getting distracted watching him.

Steve digging around in the fridge isn’t helping either.

The biggest distraction is Stark, who has his feet propped up on the coffee table while he munches on a bag of chips; loudly.

“Tony!”

Melinda and Natasha immediately look to the direction of the voice, which has startled all the occupants of the room, except Clint, who is still sound asleep. Steve’s rubbing at his head, on the spot where he knocked it into the freezer door when standing up, and Stark is slowly slinking down, disappearing into his seat.

The ginger haired woman who yelled for him is marching into the room, and Melinda doesn’t blame him for shirking away; she seems royally pissed.

He quickly stands and takes her by the elbow, pulling her out of the room. Melinda can catch snippets of their conversation. The woman, Pepper, is lecturing him on his eating habits, and he’s annoying as usual.

“Tony, I’m just worried about your health. You know how scared I was when you collapsed the last time.”

Melinda eyes Natasha as the woman’s voice raises and Steve is just standing awkwardly with a carton of milk in one hand, the other scratching his head, evidently embarrassed to be listening in on their ‘private’ conversation.

“That’s Pepper Potts from Administration. She’s Tony’s wife.”

Okay, so maybe she had been wrong earlier.

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

Melinda lets out a huff, and Natasha gives her a look, obviously confused as to why she’s disappointed that Stark is married.

“Great. Now I owe Maria twenty bucks.”

 


	10. Say Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Natasha and Clint babysit while Phil and Melinda go out for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Say Something by A Great Big World ft. Christina Aguilera

**Day 60:**

 

_Have you ever had that moment where you feel like you should_   
_speak, you should express your emotions and feelings through words._   
_That you should say something?_   
_Only to realise that by keeping silent you’ve said more than you_   
_could possibly have through words. Because sometimes_   
_moments are so powerful alone, words need not_   
_be there to add to the effect._

 

 

“Okay, I’m running late, but Skye knows the rules. She hasn’t had dinner yet; there’s stuff in the fridge. Thank you so much for doing this.”

Steve’s standing awkwardly in the foyer of Phil’s apartment, watching as his friend rushes around, and he scratches his head, trying to recall how he got roped into baby-sitting a nine-year old on his night off.

“Dad. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Uncle Steve.”

Steve wants to point out that he has plenty of experience taking care of children, well sick children. Well, he’s operated on sick children before. Several times. That’s pretty much the same thing isn’t it?

“Behave.” Phil says as he unlocks the front door, giving Skye a quick hug as she runs to his side, before waving to Steve and stepping out of the apartment.

As soon as the door closes, the lock clicking into place, Skye turns to him with a grin.

“Dad’s going out. With a lady friend.”

She’s wiggling her eyebrows and Steve doesn’t even want to know what’s going on in her mind. Shuffling on his feet, he scratches his head again.

“Um, how about you go and watch some television or something, and I’ll go make your dinner.”

Within seconds she’s running off into the living room area, and he heads towards the kitchen. He’s been to Phil’s apartment before; it’s not their number one pick in spots to hang out, because of the whole Skye situation, but Steve’s familiar enough with the place.

He is however, not familiar with whatever Phil has stocked his fridge up with.

There are packages of raw meat on the top shelf; the rest of the main storage area filled with bags full of various fruits and vegetables. Eggs, milk and bottles of sauces line the door, and with a sigh, Steve lets the fridge close and opens up the freezer.

It’s almost completely bare, a tray of ice cubes in one corner and a tub of ice-cream sitting near the back.

No frozen pizzas, no ready-made meals. None of the things that he actually had the capability of making.

How was he supposed to feed her?

Steve’s almost sure that throwing a combination of ingredients into a pot and letting them boil until they’re probably way over-cooked is not something a child would enjoy eating.

Pulling out his phone from his back pocket, he almost calls the first number on his speed dial, out of habit. Moving his finger over to the number three, he presses call button and holds the device up to his ear, listening to the continuous ringing, until it stops and a female voice comes through.

“Hey Cap, what can I do for you?” Natasha asks, chipper as ever.

“I’m at Phil’s with Skye, and I’m supposed to make her dinner.. but..” he trails off and she laughs.

Loudly.

It’s a little offensive.

“I’ll be there after I stitch this guys chest back up.”

There are other people speaking in the background, and Steve can make out the faint beeping of the heart monitor. Figures that Natasha would find a way to answer her phone in the middle of operating on someone.

* * *

 

To her credit, Natasha shows up less than an hour later with Clint in tow.

Skye runs to them as they enter the apartment, excited shouts of “Natasha!” and “Clint!” echoing throughout the room as she hugs them.

Steve’s a little miffed at that. Why were they just Natasha and Clint when he was “Uncle Steve”? He can only assume that it’s a jibe at his age; but he’s not even that much older than them.

“How’d you get stuck with the kid?” Clint asks as they enter the kitchen, Skye having quickly lost interest in them and gone back to her television programs.

“Bumped into Phil on my way out of the hospital. His normal sitter has the flu, and everyone else was occupied so I volunteered,” Steve recounts, leaning against the counter as Clint begins to rummage through the cupboards.

“Like a good soldier.”

Natasha’s hopping up onto the bench beside him, her legs swinging as she finds a comfortable position.

He’s only known her for just over a year; they’d started at SHIELD memorial around the same time, and from their first meeting she had attached to his side like a virus to a host cell, and had wheedled her way into his life. She’d even bought the apartment across the hall from him, which wasn’t creepy at all.

He had just completed his second tour in Iraq, as an army trauma surgeon rather than a soldier, and she had just finished a two-year cardio fellowship in San Francisco.

He had almost mistaken her for an intern when they first met, because of her age. She’s a prodigy of some sort; studying medicine back in Russia and advancing well ahead of everyone else.

Steve’s not sure what skill she has that had her identified as a child genius, but if it’s mastery is anything like her ability to annoy people, she must be brilliant.

It’s entirely her fault that everyone at the hospital calls him Dr. Captain Rogers.

* * *

 

Melinda’s slipping into her shoes when the sound of the doorbell ringing announces Phil’s arrival. The heels are much too high and her feet will undoubtedly be in pain before the evening ends.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, she hurries out to the front door, grabbing her phone from the kitchen benchtop as she passes.

When she opens the door, Phil’s standing there, all dressed up in a suit and a bouquet of pink roses in his arms. The gesture is cheesy, but she’s never received flowers before, and takes them with a smile.

He stays by her open door as she walks off into the apartment to look for a vase to place them in. He’s watching her with an expression that she can’t quite figure out as she moves around the room.

She ends up leaving the roses in a jug that must belong to Peggy, before walking over to him and leading him back out into the hallway, pulling her front door shut behind them.

Phil’s made reservations at a restaurant; somewhere fancy, and they’re already running a little late, but she still finds herself stopping him before they head out to his car.

“Thank you for the flowers Phil, they’re beautiful,” she says as she kisses his cheek, not even having to lean up because that is how ridiculously high her shoes are.

He beams at her as he takes her hand, and together they head down the hall to the elevators.

* * *

 

This restaurant is much classier than the diner where they had their first date, and had Melinda felt overdressed earlier, she now feels the opposite. Some of the rocks that adorn the necks of the wealthy women that they pass probably cost more than her salary for an entire year. And as a surgeon she already earns more than most. The thin silver chain around hers pales in comparison.

They’re sat at a table near the back corner and Phil pulls out her chair for her once again, like a perfect gentleman.

She watches him over their entrees; spinach and ricotta cannelloni with a tomato basil sauce, admiring the cut of his suit.

She had already found him good looking and adorable the day they met, when he was wearing a pink gown over his scrubs; but he’s more than handsome with his red tie and suit jacket and cufflinks, which he had excitedly shown her in the car earlier.

He catches her watching him and his corners of his lips turn upwards, and his eyes don’t leave hers as he takes another mouthful of food.

Her hair is curled and swept to one side, and it had been a bitch do to, but she’s glad that she made the effort. Her dress is old; the same one she wore to the intern mixer the week before she started her residency. It’s a deep red colour with half length sleeves, a square cut and almost nonexistent back; she had shivered earlier when Phil’s hand had settled against her skin, his fingertips brushing along the base of her spine.

They each have a prime cut of steak for their main course; accompanied by an iced tea, because Phil has to drive and Melinda isn’t big on drinking.

She continues sneaking glances up at him as she eats, almost unaware that his gaze has been lingering over her the entire evening.

Dessert is rich and heaven for chocolate lovers; sweet, but not as sweet as the smile that forms when she allows him to reach over and feed her a spoonful. His face flushes pink as she grabs a napkin and dabs a smudge of chocolate off his upper lip.

* * *

 

They’re walking the down the hall, heading back to Melinda’s apartment. She’s barefoot now, carrying her heels in one hand, the other claimed by Phil. She unlocks the door and drops her shoes and purse inside, before turning back to him.

He smiles into her hair as she wraps her arms around his neck, going onto her tiptoes to rest her chin onto his shoulder.

“I had fun tonight,” she whispers into his ear as his arms wind their way around her waist.

“I did too.”

She presses herself closer against him and turns her head, kissing his cheek lightly, like she had done just hours ago in this very same spot. His arms loosen, and he’s about to take a step back, but she holds him in place with her left arm as her right hand moves to brush the side of his face.

He takes a deep breath as she leans up, simultaneously pulling him down, and presses their lips together. Their eyes fall shut as she runs her fingers through his hair, and his hands move along her back, trying pull her as close to him as possible.

He is distracted when she nips at his bottom lip, and in a flash finds himself pinned against the wall outside her apartment as she continues to explore his mouth. Her hands are gripping the lapels of his jacket, and she doesn’t let go, even when she slowly pulls away.

They’re both out of breath, faces flushed and hair mussed. She giggles softly, and he can feel his heart beating wildly as he looks down at her. She leans up once more, and presses a chaste kiss against his lips before she slips out of his arms and heads back into her apartment, leaving him leaning against the wall.

He finds himself unable to move for at least another minute, and when he finally does, he raises a hand to his lips as he recalls how incredibly soft hers were.  


	11. We Are Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody gets just a little bit drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : We Are Young by Fun ft. Janelle Monáe

**Day 64:**

 

_Surgeons. Your classic workaholics; rarely seen and_  
 _almost unidentifiable outside the hospital in_  
 _normal people wear. Even a coin has two sides,_  
 _and they say those who work hard, play hard._  
 _So when they’re not slaving away at their place of business,_  
 _you can usually find them at a nearby bar._  
 _They’re the loud ones, shouting things like:_  
 _“We can drink as much as we fucking want to.”_  
 _“We are young.”_  
 _“This is fun.”_

 

Melinda is seriously considering revising her earlier pledge about not letting herself become intoxicated, because right now, that’s exactly what she needs.

Drinking leads to bad decision making; and that is almost entirely the main reason she refrains from doing it. She can hold her drink well enough; but that had not always been the case, and she had probably made some of the worst decisions of her life under the influence of alcohol.

But it’s all irrelevant now, because she’s this close to breaking the hippocratic oath and accidentally giving her patient a lethal dosage by ordering the wrong drug be administered through his IV, and she’s as far from drunk as humanly possible.

Instead, she just grits her teeth a forces a smile.

“Sir, I’m going to call neuro for a consult, just to make sure you didn’t hit your head harder than we assumed.”

She quickly pulls the curtains shut around the ER bed, but not before more of his inappropriate comments ring out for the entire room to hear. Tensing, she takes a moment to regroup her thoughts before turning and walking straight into Peggy.

“You alright?”

Melinda sighs and Peggy takes her by the arm, pulling her out of the ER and into a quiet corner.

“Your VIP in bed five tried to get to second base; I’m almost sure he doesn’t have brain damage, yet.”

“Quinn? He harassed two nurses and one of our fourth year residents the last time he came in. Thinks he can get away with anything because he has a fat wallet.”

Melinda shakes her head, more annoyed than anything else, tucking her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat.

“I would have broken his nose had Steve not held me back. Consider yourself off the case; I’ll page him and tell him to handle the problem - his self restraint far surpasses that of yours or mine,” Peggy recalls, sighing. “Best we get back to work then.”

It’s barely ten in the morning and all Melinda wants to do now is go home and crawl into bed; that greasy slimebag Quinn had only made her bad day worse.

* * *

  
“I heard what happened in the ER today. Are you alright?”

Phil’s waiting for her outside the hospital after evening rounds; his tie is loose, his sleeves rolled up and Melinda smiles, seeing him dressed so casually. She walks into his embrace, resting her hands and face against his chest as his arms wrap around her.

She doesn’t respond verbally, just nodding as one of his hands moves up and begins stroking her hair.

“We better get going. Natasha doesn’t like to wait,” he says, dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head and drawing out another smile from her.

Against her better judgement, Melinda had agreed to tag along tonight; a group of the attendings and fellows were grabbing drinks over at their bar, and after today, she might just take whatever shots Natasha will undoubtedly offer.

She leans into Phil’s side as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, and they make their way across the road to the bar. The summer night is warm; the air thick, and it’s almost unbearable to be so close to another person, but Melinda feels only comfort as he holds her against him.

He opens the door for them as they arrive, and guides her inside with a gentle hand on her back. The patrons are made up mostly of businessmen from the nearby buildings and employees of Shield Memorial, and it’s easy enough to tell the difference between the two.

Maria waves them over to a group of booths in the back; and despite the space, it is already quite crowded back there. Natasha and the woman who she now recognises as Tony Stark’s wife Pepper, are conversing as they watch their respective significant others play darts. Stark is clearly outmatched because Clint is hitting the bullseye every time.

In the next booth over, Maria is sitting between the ‘amicably divorced’ couple, who are clearly still in the break-up stage of their relationship. Mack, Trip and Vic are opposite them, a half empty tray of rainbow shots between the five.

Peggy’s sitting next to Steve, who is chatting to another man, in the corner booth. Her face stuffed with tortilla chips, and Melinda can’t help but laugh as she slides in next to her. Phil’s watching her from the bar as he orders drinks for the two of them and she smiles at him, letting him know that she’s noticed him.

“Steve, introduce me to the lady,” the man says, winking at her, and Melinda has to resist the urge to raise her eyebrow at him.

He’s about Steve’s age, with dark hair and eyes, and is currently smiling flirtatiously in her direction. Beside her, Melinda can feel Peggy rolling her eyes.

“Melinda, this is Bucky Barnes. He used to drive a tanker, but he’s downgraded to an ambulance now,” Steve says, slapping his friend on the back.

“Bucky, this is Dr. Melinda May; she’s the one who replaced Pierce.”

Melinda feels more than a little discomfort as “Bucky” grins at her and extends a hand. Gingerly, she reaches hers out, but instead of a handshake, he pulls her hand towards him and presses a sloppy kiss to her knuckles, and as she retracts her arm, Melinda wonders if it would be incredibly rude if she were to immediately reach for her hand sanitizer.

Fortunately, Phil’s walking back towards them with a drink in each hand, carefully setting down a Malibu Sunrise in front of her and uncapping a light beer for himself as he sits down beside her.

His left arm settles around her waist, almost possessively, and Melinda can only imagine that he observed the exchange between her and Bucky only moments ago. Shifting a little closer, she leans up and presses a kiss to his jawline, rubbing her nose against his cheek.

“Is someone a little jealous?”

She can feel his smile, and the slight shake of his head as he takes a swig of beer and tightens his grip on her hip. Melinda really isn’t one for public displays of affection, but she honestly can’t bring herself to care as she kisses him again, this time lower, just beneath his ear.

When she pulls away and turns her attention to her cocktail, Peggy is watching her with a mixture of amusement and concern; Steve’s friend Bucky has his mouth open in shock and Steve, well he just looks supremely uncomfortable.

* * *

 

Bruce and Thor come in an hour later, and by now, everybody is considerably more drunk. They immediately head over to the bar and grab a couple beers each, before joining Natasha’s table.

Melinda’s listening intently to a story that Bucky is telling about Steve, and their days in high school together; after turning off the flirt, he was actually quite friendly, and it appears he and Steve were and still are very close.

He’s wrapping up a tale about Steve’s athletic ability back in the day, and Peggy is rolling her eyes every now and then, because clearly, she has heard this story one too many times.

Melinda is glad that Bucky is done, not because the thought of Steve being a gangly pre-pubescent teenage boy isn’t amusing, but because she is quickly growing distracted, thanks to Phil and the incessant tapping motion he’s creating with his fingers against her side.

She elbows him in the ribs, and he freezes for a moment, before removing his arm from around her. She frowns, already missing the warmth and turns to him, slightly put out.

“I should get going,” he says, checking his watch. “Don’t want to leave poor Jemma alone with Skye for too long.”

Phil’s about to rise, but finds himself unable to, because Melinda’s fist is curled around his tie, and she’s looking at him with a smirk. Smiling, he gently brings a hand to her cheek and leans in, kissing her softly on the lips.

“Do you need a ride?” he whispers, and she shakes her head, loosening her grip on his tie and releasing him.

She watches fondly as he rises and proceeds to wish everyone a good evening, before making his way to the door and exiting the bar. When she turns back, Peggy again has that strange expression on her face, and she appears as though she wants to say something, but is reluctant to do so with company.

Fortunately for her, Steve and Bucky soon excuse themselves to join in on Clint’s darts tournament, leaving the two of them alone. Melinda cranes her neck to see how they’re doing - Natasha has joined in, teaming up with Clint and just from one glance, Melinda knows that Steve and Bucky don’t have a chance.

Stark is so far past drunk, he’s trying to climb into Bruce’s lap, but Pepper doesn’t appear to be fazed. Bobbi and Maria have collapsed against one another, Trip and Vic are still downing shots, one after another, and Lance appears to be having the life squeezed out of him by Mack. All in all, a successful night out.

When she turns back, Peggy shuffles closer, and rests her chin upon a propped up elbow, and Melinda twirls the straw resting in her empty glass.

“I’ve never seen you this happy,” she says, a crease forming in her brow as she continues. “Don’t get me wrong, after everything that’s happened, you deserve to be happy. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“Peggy, I-”

“I’ve known you for over ten years, and I’ve never seen you smile so much.”

Melinda wants to point out that prior to moving to D.C., she and Peggy had only seen one another in two day intervals, once a year.

“Whatever it is you have with Phil, it’s right.”

And as Melinda stares down at her hands, she realises that her friend is not wrong.

 


	12. Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a plane crash. WARNING: There's a plane crash!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Human by Christina Perri

**Day 71:**

_Disasters. They strike when you least expect it._  
 _They can happen anytime, anywhere, and when they do,_  
 _someone has to stand up, and take control of the situation._  
 _Fix the problem._  
 _People tend to forget that soldiers, policemen, firefighters,_  
 _those who serve our community, are people too._  
 _Surgeons. Steely in the OR and fearless as they slice you_  
 _open and help you heal. Unafraid. Unwavering. Undeterred.  
_ _We’re only human too._

 

The sound of a pager ringing through the almost empty on call room draws a series of loud groans from the only two occupants.

“Clint, answer your fucking pager.”

“It’s nearly six in the morning, why would anyone need a plastics consult?”

With a loud huff, Natasha slips out from beneath the sheets, and pads over to the chair where she had ditched her scrubs earlier. Digging around, she finally manages to find the darn thing, clipped to the waistband of her scrub pants.  

“Shit.”

Clint pushes himself into a sitting position on the bunk, craning his neck out to peer at her. The lights are off but the glow of the moon, well, street lights, coming in through the windows thanks to the undrawn curtains make it easy enough to see.

“What is it?”

He leans back against the bunk’s metal frame as she begins to pull her clothes on.

“Code Orange, they’ll need hands down in the ER, you might as well get up, they’re going to page you eventually anyway,” she says as she picks his scrubs up from off the floor and throws them at him. As if to prove her point, his pager starts going off just moments later.

She’s lacing up her shoes and in seconds, he’s by her side doing the same. They can hear footsteps echoing up and down the halls outside before they even exit the room, the distant echoes of sirens and Natasha has a feeling this is going to be disastrous.

* * *

 

It’s close to six in the morning, and the ER has been surprisingly quiet. No major accidents, no influx of children with the flu, and several of the attendings on call are together in the lounge, engaged in a battle to the death.

Well, death of reputation any how.

“Hit me.”

Bobbi smirks as she sends a card flying in Tony’s direction, a jack of spades landing on top of his upturned queen of diamonds.

“Crap.”

Grinning, Bobbi turns to Mack who holds his hands in the air and shakes his head.

“Bruce?”

“Nope.”

“Thor?”

“Another!”

She’s about to deal a card to him when several pagers start going off at once, all in different rhythms.

“Code Orange? That can’t be good.”

One by one, the attendings rise, leaving their cards untouched on the table, and pulling their discarded lab coats back on.

Rushing out the door, Bobbi nearly runs straight into Natasha and Clint, who are charging down the hallway.

“Hey, do you know what’s happening?”

Natasha shakes her head as she fixes her hair, Clint handing her bobby pins as she pulls the strands into a bun.

A pair of residents dash past them, their interns trailing close behind; the sounds of sirens growing louder; closer.

And just when they thought that they’d have a shift with no major disasters.

* * *

 

“This is fun. Isn’t this fun?”

Melinda is tempted to remind Phil that they’re standing over a twelve year old patient, who happens to have a serious heart condition that she is trying to correct, and that it is not the time for games.

“Dr. Coulson. I’m sure the interns are enjoying describe the disease, but I would appreciate it if they were able to multi-task and hand me the correct surgical instrument when I request it.”

That certainly seems to do the trick, because the interns immediately stand at attention, and Melinda hopes they can’t see the smirk she’s wearing beneath her mask.

“Dr. May. I’m just trying to create an interactive learning environment.”

He sounds so put out, and Melinda looks up from the patient’s beating heart, making eye contact with him. She can almost see the pout that’s undoubtedly formed, but she can make him feel better later, when they’re not operating on a kid.

She’s lifting her hands from the body, preparing to stitch the incision back up, when the pagers of every doctor in the OR start to let out incessant beeps. She points at an intern on the other side of a table, Fitz, the poor kid Maria had chosen to embarrass on his first day, and tilts her head in the direction of the tray where the pagers all lay.

He immediately rushes to them, almost tripping over his own feet, and the other interns snort, but Melinda can only shake her head. Poor thing.

“Err, Dr. May, it’s a code orange. What’s a code orange?”

Melinda looks at Phil; he’s watching her with widened eyes and she knows it’s bad. Hospitals all use the code system; some are universal, and others are unique to each individual institution. Back in L.A, orange had stood for hazardous material spillage, but from Phil’s reaction, it appears that whatever it stands for here is much, much worse.

“Dr. Triplett if you would close up here. Everyone else, with me.”

Melinda and Phil immediately make a beeline for the door, stripping off their bloodied gloves and gowns and heading to scrub out. They’re done in record time, and Phil instructs the interns and residents to assemble in the ER when they’re finished.

Even in times like these, he holds the door open for her and she can’t help but roll her eyes at him. They make their way through the halls to the elevators, and she presses the down arrow repeatedly with her thumb.

When the doors open, she’s face to face with Maria, who appears quite frantic. A broader look shows that nearly all the attendings on call are crammed inside, and Melinda and Phil squeeze in between Thor and Bruce.

As the doors slide back closed, Tony, who is crammed into the back corner shouts - “Does anyone know what the hell is going on?”

 

* * *

 

“Did I do something to upset you?”

Peggy looks up from where she’s signing discharge papers, leaning against the counter at the nurses station, seeing nothing. It takes her another moment to realise that Steve is seated in one of the nurses chairs, looking up at her, and she regards him with a neutral expression.

“What in the world gave you that idea?”

He looks relieved. Peggy bites back a sigh; Steve had never been one to pick up on sarcasm, even with a guy like Bucky as his best friend.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but she silences him as she catches sight of the small television in the corner of her eye, shifting until it is fully in her vision.

“Could you turn that up please?”

He digs around in the shelves for the remote, pulling it out and pointing up towards the screen, and the volume quickly increases.

“-airport. A commercial plane carrying over two hundred passenger has crashed, minutes after take-off. The wreckage is still ablaze, firefighters have just arrived on scene. We’ll bring you the latest upda-”

The sound of the television is drowned out as the phones begin to ring, and the sirens of the ambulances pulling away from the bay filling the room.

“Oh crap.”

Peggy turns back to Steve, who is now in a standing position, peering over the shoulder of a nurse who has answered the call.

“Doctors, they’ve contained the fire and have begun extracting passengers from the wreckage. Our ambulances have yet to arrive on site, the first one is just minutes away. There are many injured..”

Steve’s gaze flickers to hers for a brief moment, and all Peggy can manage in this moment is a curt nod; but he understands the meaning behind and takes control of the situation.

“Page all attendings, residents, interns and nurses on call, page all attendings that are off; code orange.”

Code orange.

Their code for an external disaster.

* * *

 

“- and cancel all non-emergent procedures. Stark, you’ll be in charge of the burn unit - the wreckage caught fire so there’ll be a lot of patients sent your way. We’ll need an ENT up in the ER, but the rest of the plastics department are assigned to the burn unit also.”

Clint stays put as Tony leaves with Lance and Grant, joined by a group of residents and interns.

The ER is a flurry of movement, chaos. as ambulances begin pulling in, the injured passengers from the flight being rolled in on gurneys by the medics. Doctors flock to each patient, either wheeling them up to the OR or down to the burn unit.

There’s blood, everywhere. Terrified screams from those that are aware of what has happened to them. Parents yelling for their children, others calling for their friends.

It’s a neverending nightmare.

* * *

 

The plane had taken a nose dive right after take-off, the pilots and all passengers in the front of the aircraft killed on impact. Those in the middle and rear that had survived were engulfed in flames, burned alive, and those that lived through the fire were seriously injured, in a critical condition.

That’s the truth.

It had been a freak accident. Those that died didn’t suffer; death was quick, painless.

This is the story they tell to the family members of the deceased, doing little to soothe their heartache, but it’s better than revealing the true horrors their loved ones had gone through before passing.

Nick Fury is grim as another team of surgeons exit the OR, shaking their heads.

That’s it. They’re done.

Their ICU is filled with survivors, those that will live another day. The morgue is filled with the bodies of those that will never take another breath.

The mood is sullen, the surgeons seeking solace in one another. Even Bobbi and Lance aren’t arguing, and that is almost terrifying to see.

* * *

 

Melinda lets Phil lead her out to his car, she doesn’t have much left in her. It’s almost midnight; the dawn of a new day.

Phil keeps one hand over her’s as he drives, glancing to check on her every time it’s safe to do so. Her eyes fall shut and her breathing evens out, and he smiles for the first time since the crash and it’s aftermath because she looks so peaceful in her sleeping state.

He eases into an empty spot by her apartment building, careful not pull in too quickly and jolt her back to consciousness.  

They’ve been sitting there for several minutes, and he should really wake her, let her get inside, get some sleep, but he’s mesmerised.

Drawn in by her every breath.

He briefly ponders how awkward it would be if she were to catch him watching, watching her in one’s most vulnerable state and he’s tempted to gently squeeze her hand, to wake her. But she appears so relaxed and he can’t bring himself to.

“Are you watching me sleep?”

Busted.

Her eyelids flutter open, and she regards him with a tired smile. He shrugs and she really wants to laugh, but she’s exhausted. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she leans across and presses her forehead against his, kissing him softly, once, twice, three times.

With that, she opens the door and steps out onto the curb, closing it behind her. He’s about to protest, about to insist that he should walk her up to her apartment, but she gives him a warning glance, and he just waves as she enters the building.

He sits there, with the keys in the ignition, until he sees the light in her bedroom switch on through the windows.


	13. Just the Way You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda is avoiding her mother, and she meets Phil's daughter, Skye, for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Just The Way You Are by Bruno Mars

**Day 77:**

 

_For some strange reason, we as people, often seek approval_   
_from others to prove our own self worth. I was taught from_   
_a young age to just be me, but there was always a part of me,_   
_albeit a small part, that wondered, would my mother love me_   
_more, if I changed a certain aspect about myself. My father told_   
_me I was being stupid. He said,_   
_“you’re not perfect, no one is. But I love you, just the way you are.”_   
_I later learned that my mother felt no different._

 

Melinda had been an overachiever her entire life.

She was born a month early and feet first, not even bothering to turn before coming out into the world.

By four months she had begun crawling around, and four months after that, started walking around, hiding from her nanny around the house.

Her first word, at nine months old, was poop, and by the time she was just under two years old, it wasn’t an issue anymore because she learned how to use the potty.

Around the same time, she had her first kiss, a little boy in the neighbourhood who she had grabbed and planted her lips on, before wiping the slobber off on the back of her hand and pushing him down on the street.

Her nanny had home schooled her until she was old enough to enrol at the local elementary school, and by then, she was already reading at a third grade level. Her parents made the decision to put her in a school for gifted and talented students, where she spent time with other overachieving students.

By the age of seventeen, she had her first degree, a bachelors in biological sciences, and was enrolling in medical school at Thomas Jefferson University. The day she had received the offer through the mail, her mother hadn’t even batted an eyelash, simply saying “That will do.”

Even now, as the youngest head of cardio in the history of Shield Memorial, her mother still made a point of calling up and reminding her that her current success did not make up for any of the failures in her past.

Such was the exact reason why Melinda had a total of thirty nine missed calls from a number with a Pennsylvania area code.

She expected repercussions for her actions, possibly a lecture the next time she visited, it wouldn’t be the first time that her mother threatened to disown her.

She didn’t anticipate however, that the woman would find a means of utilising a third party to get through to her. So when she received a page from Peggy to see her in her office, she had a feeling that the meeting would not be one of business or leisure.

“Hey, you wanted to talk?”

Before Peggy even has a chance to respond, Melinda’s stepping into her office and shutting the door behind her, sliding the lock into place with a single finger.

“Oh yes, why don’t you just invite yourself in. Goodness knows I haven’t been trying to teach you manners since the day we met.”

Melinda’s expression is one of evident annoyance as she pulls out the chair opposite Peggy’s desk and sinks down into it.

“I’m not a med school student anymore, and you are certainly not my lab demonstrator.”

“And yet I find myself in a situation that gives me quite a sense a deja vu. Your mother calling me because she can’t reach you, and me having to deal with her.”

Melinda narrows her brows at Peggy and grips the edge of her seat with both hands.

“This is hardly the same situation.”

Peggy folds her arms in front of her, leaning forward and meeting Melinda’s gaze.

“You were young and you were scared. You made a mistake and she kicked you out. Or you ran away; my mind is still fuzzy about the details. But look at where you are now. Why are you still afraid to speak with her? If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t call.”

“My mother hates me.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“Fine, I hate my mother.”

“No, you don’t.”

Why did Peggy always have to be right about everything in life?

_Melinda, that gentleman is a bad influence_

_Melinda, you have to tell her, it’s for the best_

_Melinda, I can’t make the decision for you, but I urge you to do it quickly_

_Melinda, you have to do what you think is best, but whatever your choice is, you’ll carry regret with you your entire life_

_Melinda, that dress and those shoes? No._

_Melinda._

_Melinda._

“Melinda!”

Peggy’s snapping her fingers together, directly in front of Melinda’s face, and she pulls away slightly, the sound drawing her back into reality.

“It is a common courtesy to pay attention to one when one is speaking. Especially when that person spent half an hour on the phone with an angry woman because somebody has been avoiding their mother.”

“I haven’t been avoiding her. I’ve been strategically making it impossible for myself to be present in the room when she calls.”

This time Peggy’s the one who is rolling her eyes as she begins fiddling around with her wireless mouse.

“What I meant to say was, thank you for dealing with her for me. It means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

When Melinda drops around at Phil’s office between surgeries later in the afternoon, she is surprised to find the room occupied, and not by the man himself.

There’s a young girl, likely under the age of ten, sitting cross-legged in Phil’s office chair, scribbling away furiously into a ruled book. There’s a mathematics textbook open on top of Phil’s patient files, and his keyboard, mouse and laptop have been moved to one side, creating a makeshift workspace for her.

“If you’re looking for him, dad’s doing a splenectomy in OR4.”

The girl, Phil’s daughter, Skye, obviously, addresses Melinda without looking up, and she honestly isn’t too shocked. It is definitely not surprising that Phil would have a daughter so bright.

She’s about to respond when Skye looks up at her, blinking a pair of dark brown eyes before her eyebrows raise towards the roof.

“You’re Melinda. Dad’s new lady friend.”

Melinda barely manages to contain a laugh at how brash and straightforward the girl is.

“Yes. I don’t know the bit about being your father’s lady friend though.”

Skye smiles at her, slowly placing her pencil down onto the desk and gesturing for Melinda to sit down opposite her. As she moves to take a seat, Melinda genuinely wonders if this is what an interrogation feels like.

“How old are you?”

Well, alright then.

“Thirty.”

“Aren’t you a little young? Dad’s not too far from forty; are you sure you want to end up with an old man?”

Melinda has no idea how to respond to that question in a way that won’t get her in trouble with the girl, so she chooses an answer that applies but isn’t one that she necessarily believe is true.

“Age is but a number.”

Skye nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

“Criminal Record?”

“Parking ticket, back in LA. Once.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No.”

“Does it bother you that dad’s been divorced?”

“No.”

“You know, he’s been alone since Audrey left him for the other Phil in her life.”

Before Melinda has a chance to ask who this ‘Audrey’ is, there’s a loud cough from the doorway, and she turns to find that Phil is standing there, arms across his chest, eyeing Skye with a disapproving glare.

“Skye.”

“Dad.”

“Is there any reason why you’re questioning Melinda like she’s a murder suspect?”

Phil’s tone is stern as he walks towards them, stopping behind Melinda and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze.

“I just didn’t want your girlfriend to turn out to be a prostitute like last time.”

“She was not a prostitute, she was an entertainer.”

“Not according to Jemma.”

“Well Jemma, isn’t always right.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Melinda sits stiffly, unsure of how she should be reacting. This is clearly an ongoing banter between father and daughter, and one she would much rather stay out of.

Groaning, Phil gives Skye a look that says ‘this conversation is over’, and he offers a hand to help Melinda up, putting his arm around her as he ushers her out of his office, shutting the door loudly enough to make a point.

“I’m sorry about Skye. She’s a little… overprotective, and meddlesome.”

The hallways up on the office floors are quieter than the rest of the hospital, and this particular one is completely deserted, so she doesn’t object when he leans his back against a wall and pulls her towards him, enveloping her in his arms.

All of her protests surrounding public displays of affection seem to vanish when it comes to Phil, and though there’s a part of her mind that keeps reminding her that she’s known him for less than three months, and that they’ve never even defined whatever it is that they’re doing together, she can’t bring herself to care.

“She’s sweet, and loves her dad. But tell her to stop worrying, I’m most definitely not a prostitute.”

She laughs softly as her fingers toy with them hem of his scrubs, and he joins in, tightening his arms around her.

“You’re amazing.”

She presses her hands against his chest, her fingers curling around the dark blue fabric of his scrub shirt as he leans down to kiss her, and he reaches a hand up to cup her face as the other stays around her waist and pulls her even closer.

Younger Melinda, heck, any version of her before meeting Phil, would not be standing in a public place and making out with anybody. She could only imagine how disapproving her mother would be.

Both his hands are tangled in her hair now, and she’s curled one arm around his neck, anchoring herself against him, and they’re about to pull apart for air when a series of loud knocks causes them to almost jump apart.

Skye’s forehead is pressed against the glass as she pulls a face at them, her hand holding back the blinds that should have obscured the view, and Melinda turns to hide her face in the crook of Phil’s neck as he shakes his head warily.

“Okay, I approve of her. But I might have to go and throw up my lunch now.”

 


	14. Story of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil talks to Melinda about his ex-wife, and Natasha finds Steve yet another potential girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Story of My Life by One Direction

**Day 81:**

 

_That man you just passed in the street; his wife_   
_has cancer, and he has two young children at home._   
_The old woman crossing the road, her grandson is_   
_serving our country, and she just wants him to come home,_   
_because she already lost his father and grandfather to_   
_the cause. You know absolutely nothing about the strangers,_   
_that you pass by in life, and that’s a little scary. What’s really_   
_scary is when you know someone, and don’t, at the same time._   
_When they sit down, and say, “you wanna hear the story of my life?”_   
_It’s all new and unfamiliar, but you hope that one day,_   
_you’ll be able to recite that tale, word for word._

 

“Skye, please change out of your pajamas, we have to leave.”

Phil sighs as his nine year old rolls her eyes at him, shovelling one last spoonful of cereal into her mouth and making a point of chewing slowly, before taking her time sliding off her chair, and shuffling an inch per minute towards her bedroom.

He grabs her empty bowl and walks it over to the sink, quickly rinsing it out before shoving it into the dishwasher. Wiping down the counter with an old dish rag, he checks his watch again.

9:04.

Of all days he had to sleep through his alarm, it had to be today. He’d intended on waking at seven, and getting some housework done before dropping Skye off at Jemma’s, but had not actually woken until half past eight, when Skye clambered into his bed and shouted that she was going to starve to death if he didn’t feed her.

She had quite the dramatic streak.

“Skye, are you done yet?”

His question is soon answered as the door to her bedroom swings open and she runs out in a blue floral dress that he doesn’t recognise; Jemma, and occasionally Peggy or Natasha, are in charge of taking her clothes shopping these days; when Phil did, she always complained that he had no sense of style.

“Jeez dad, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Okay, maybe letting Skye hang around Natasha all the time is a mistake on his part.

“Why are you in such a rush away?” she tugs on his sleeve as h e quickly ushers her out of their apartment. “Are you going out with your girlfriend?”

He shakes his head and places his hand onto her shoulder as they walk.

“I’m late for breakfast with Melinda, and she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Yet.”

“Skye.”

“She’s nice. And she’s young. And she’s a doctor. If you don’t snap her up, she’s going run off with a better guy and you’re going to end up alone.”

“Skye.”

Skye opens her mouth and appears as though she is about to badger him some more, and he really isn’t the mood to explain adult relationships to a child, so he slips a hand into the side of his laptop bag and dangles his iPad in her face.

It does the trick.

* * *

 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. You look lovely by the way.”

Melinda looks up from the patient files she is reading to see Phil sliding into the booth opposite her. Seeing as he compliments her appearance almost every time they’re together, his comment shouldn’t elicit too much of a reaction from her. She bites back a smile, but her body betrays her, a pink tinge spreading across her cheeks.

“It’s alright, I had plenty of things to entertain myself with,” she says as she places the folder on the top of a pile beside her.

She chooses not to respond to his second statement however, not really knowing what to say, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind.

They don’t have a chance to begin a conversation, as a perky blonde waitress stops by and asks for their orders. Just minutes later, she returns, placing a stack of pancakes in front of each of them, along with a mug of black tea for Melinda and coffee for Phil.

“So, the other day Skye mentioned that a woman named Audrey had left you? Was she…” Melinda lets the question trail off, not even sure why she had brought it up in the first place.

The easiest explanation was that she was simply curious, but she has no intention of lying to herself. She wants to get to know him more; learn about his past, which she is well aware is a mistake on her part, because she has nothing to offer him back, nothing she is comfortable with sharing, if he were to ask about her own past.

“Audrey was my wife.”

Melinda nods, because Phil seems to have tensed up, and she regrets more than ever bringing it. She picks up her mug of tea and takes a sip, letting the hot liquid scorch her tongue and throat on the way down.

“We married young; it was impulsive.”

Melinda flickers her gaze up at him; his brow is pinched and his hands are clenched around the knife and fork that he’s using to cut into his pancakes.

“I had finished my residency, and wanted to settle down and start a family. She was a musician and wanted to travel.”

Phil’s expression is almost pained now; these memories were evidently not pleasant, and Melinda knew first hand how it felt to carry that around with you.

“We split up before Skye’s second birthday, and she moved to Portland to play in their philharmonic.”

Melinda now understands the joke Skye had made earlier, about Audrey leaving her father for the ‘other phil’ and in any other circumstance it would have been funny, but Phil seems so upset, and it hurts her too.

“Phil.”

She’s ignoring her food which is quickly going cold, in favor or reaching a hand out towards him, hovering it gently over his clenched fist.

“I’m sorry I brought it up.”

He drops his eating utensils, letting the metal clang loudly against the porcelain plate, before taking her hand in both of his.

“It helps. Talking about it. I mean, it’s silly, but it feels like a weight is lifted off my chest every time I do. And it’s stupid, because it’s been so long, and I’m not even upset anymore about the fact that our marriage failed, but sometimes it still kind of hurts. And talking about it. It helps.”

He’s rambling and she reaches her free hand over and squeezes his, which are still clasped tightly around her other one. He looks up at her, blue eyes meet brown, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

“And now I’ve ruined our breakfast.”

She smiles, shaking her head, and with no more hands left to spare, nudges his leg with her foot.

“Come on, let’s eat. We have rounds in twenty.”

* * *

 

“-and I had to spend an extra thirty minutes in there, fixing their mistakes.”

Maria’s complaining about interns again, and Bobbi and Lance are shooting death glares at one another from across the cafeteria, so everything is pretty much back to normal. The only real difference today is that Peggy is free and has joined them at lunch, and Melinda is sitting between her and Clint today, because Natasha is nowhere to be seen.

“Interns are supposed to make mistakes Maria, it’s how they learn,” Mack says calmly before pointing a finger across the table at her. “Plus, I seem to recall you botching plenty of surgeries during our residency.”

“I did not ‘botch’ surgeries, and there were definitely not ‘plenty’,” Maria huffs indignantly, glaring at him, before proceeding to pick up a grape from her fruit salad and turn it into pulp between two fingers.

Melinda has a funny feeling that the poor piece of fruit was just a substitute for Mack’s head.

She looks around the table again, and does a quick roll call in her head. Phil has a surgery at the moment, as do Stark and Ward, but Steve and Natasha were definitely free. Their names had been absent from the OR boards when she passed them earlier, and Melinda can’t imagine why they would miss lunch, especially since she’s sitting next to Clint, who Natasha is rarely, if ever, far from.

And to be completely honest, Steve doesn’t appear to have many friends outside of the hospital.

“Where’s Natasha?” Melinda asks as she nudges Clint with one elbow, making him look up from his minestrone soup.

He shrugs and looks up around the table before turning his attention back to his food.

“No idea, last I saw she was off trying to ruin Steve’s life.”

He sounds almost annoyed as he speaks, and Melinda can only assume that Natasha’s need for meddling in other’s relationships doesn’t leave much time for her own. But then again, Natasha is never particularly specific when describing her relationship with Clint - there is clearly a physical side, and they are together more often than apart, but Natasha has also clearly attached herself to Steve’s side, even going so far as to live across the hall from him.

Melinda’s queries are sated when Natasha bursts into the cafeteria with Steve in tow. He’s wearing a button down shirt and fancy dress pants, and Melinda could swear that she saw him earlier in a t-shirt and jeans. He also looks extremely uncomfortable as Natasha pulls him over to one corner and Melinda is well aware she is staring but she can’t help it.

She’s speaking rapidly to Steve, and not so subtly gesturing to a table by the window on their far left, where a young blonde nurse is sitting alone. She looks familiar, but Melinda can’t quite place her face.

Natasha makes her way over to sit beside Clint, but doesn’t appear to notice his solemn mood because her gaze is locked on Steve who is shuffling towards the nurse. Whatever they’re saying to one another stays between them, because there are people everywhere, talking and eating, and their voices are are lost amongst the chatter.

“Don’t Steve and Sharon make a good looking couple?”

Sharon.

Sharon.

Sharon Carter.

The smiling blonde nurse is Peggy’s niece via her elder sister.

Melinda’s realisation doesn’t come a second too late, because moments later, Peggy is standing, half a chicken salad sandwich left abandoned on the table as she flees from the room.

Interesting.

* * *

 

“So. How did your ambush set up lunch date go?”

Steve’s expression screams exasperation as he turns from the x-rays hung up against the lit up screens, to Melinda who is studying a pair of unrelated scans beside him.

“Did Natasha put you up to this?”

“Just making sure you’re alright. She can be quite the handful.”

“No kidding.”

That effectively ends their conversation, so Melinda plucks the scans from where she had pinned them up earlier and proceeds to leave.

She might be hearing things, but as she exits the room, swears that Steve is muttering something akin to “She picked the wrong Carter”.

Very Interesting.

 


	15. Rumor Has It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz listens to gossip, Steve and Bruce babysit for Pepper and Melinda misses Phil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Rumor Has It by Adele

**Day 92:**

 

_Gossip spreads like wildfire, but that’s just an expression_   
_I’m stealing, because I have no idea how wildfire spreads._   
_You’d be surprised by things you learn about people,_   
_just by listening to others. Whilst not necessarily true,_   
_information is power; that one isn’t stolen, I truly believe that._   
_And as terrible as gossip is, the next time you hear someone_   
_start a sentence with, “Rumour has it-” you might convince_   
_yourself to stick by a little longer._

It’s mid-September now, and Melinda can scarcely believe that she has been at Shield Memorial for three months already.

Whilst she had mostly kept to herself back in LA, spending most of her time either at work or alone at home, she now finds herself surrounded by a group of people that consider her a friend.

Her routines here are a drastic improvement, and even though she’s always lived life by a schedule, she doesn’t feel pressure doing so anymore.

For morning shifts, she attempts to get into bed as early as possible the evening before, so she can get things done in the morning before work begins. Sometimes it’s cleaning up, or extra paperwork that needs doing, but in the past couple weeks, she’s been frequenting a nearby gym with Natasha, Maria and Bobbi, who all believe that one should eat whatever they want, whenever they want, but pay the price for that by exercising.

She has lunch with the other attendings, sometimes in the cafeteria, and less often in the Attending’s lounge. They eat, they joke around, talk about cases or bizarre patients, Maria mostly vents her frustrations, and Natasha is just as annoying as she was back in the day, but it’s nice to have other people to be around and converse with, no matter the topic.  

It’s nice to have people to talk to about one’s day, whether it be happy and exciting with three successful surgeries and major medical breakthroughs, or incredibly stressful and frustrating because no one can quite figure out how to operate without killing the patient and time is quickly running out.

It’s really just, nice.

For evening shifts, she tries her hardest to sleep during the day, and at times it’s almost impossible, because her body clock is screaming at her to be awake; but at other times, she’s so exhausted from the day that’s passed she’ll collapse onto her couch the minute she walks into her apartment, only to wake up hours later to a sore neck and back from a terrible sleeping position.

If she has time, she usually grabs a quick dinner with whoever is working the same shift, most of the time it happens to be Natasha, which quite frankly Melinda doesn’t understand, because they were both in the same speciality, but she supposes that Shield Memorial had enough cardio surgeons to go around.

She suspects that either Natasha has pestered Peggy into putting them together on the roster, or Peggy has done so herself so that Natasha can keep an eye on her, which is ridiculous, because Natasha is the one that needs to be constantly monitored, in order to keep her out of trouble.

The former is much more probable.

Night shifts and longer shifts equate to an amount of caffeine that can almost be considered an overdose - usually obtained from tea or coke, whichever she happens to feel like, as unhealthy it may be. The sugar rush lasts until the minute after she finishes up, and then she hitches a ride with home with whoever else is coming off a shift.

She really needed her own car.

And time off, much less days off become more and more of a rarity as they draw closer to the last quarter of the year. There are more cases at the hospital, more emergencies, more accidents because people are growing tired and restless and just can’t wait for the year to be over.

Families returning from summer vacations to exotic and far off lands will likely bring about a whole new slew of infectious diseases, and the workload can only grow from there.

* * *

 

It’s within human nature to gossip apparently, or so Fitz, as he was called by everyone around here, discovered when he started as an intern at Shield Memorial. He was at least several years younger than the others, and his baby face only made the women pinch his cheeks and call him a cutie while the guys just laughed at him for it. In all fairness, he shouldn’t have fit in, but they let him have lunch with them, and looked out for him around the hospital, and it was nice.

Hanging around with them however, brought him much non-medically related information about certain higher ups at the hospital that he would really rather not know. But as he quietly sits at the end of the table, pulling out pretzel after pretzel from the little plastic container sitting in front of him, he can’t help but tune in to the conversations of his fellow interns.

“I heard Dr. Romanoff and Dr. Barton going at it again in an on call room this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“The attendings are a bunch of sex addicts.”

“They have bets on each other’s relationships. How weird is that?”

“Dr. Hill is such a bitch. She’s the meanest of all the attendings.”

“No way. Have any of you scrubbed in with Dr. Carter? She’s insane.”

“Anyone have any idea what’s going on between her and Dr. Captain Rogers?”

“Nothing, I hope. He’s a fine piece of ass that I’d like to get my hands onto.”

“Dude gross, he’s like at least a decade older than you.”

Fitz has heard all of these topics in their exchanges before - they really didn’t have many things to talk about other than the relationships between their superiors; when they weren’t doing so, they were bragging about whichever surgeries they had managed to scrub in on.

Sure, Dr. Hill had embarrassed him more than any of the other interns; predominantly after he had failed on the appendectomy on his first shift, but as mean as she was, she wasn’t a bad teacher.

“How old do you think Dr. Carter is?”

“I heard she was a TA for Dr. May when she was in med school, and apparently Dr. May is thirty, so what she must be like, almost forty?”

“Yeah, but women lie about their ages. How can Dr. May be head of cardio at thirty?”

“Dr. Romanoff told us that Dr. May was her resident during her intern year, and she’s an attending now, so she must be at least what, thirty one, thirty two.”

Crunch.

These pretzels sure were salty.

And quite honestly, he can’t figure out why it matters how old the female attendings are. He’s nearly five years younger than most of the other interns, and if doesn’t fail out, he’ll only be twenty seven when he finishes his residency. Plus, the attendings were a scary bunch, and he had no intention of getting on their bad side by joining in on all the gossip.

The others, the girls especially, are all so engrossed in their chatter that they don’t even see a figure approach the other end of the table. In fact, they keep on chattering away as the rest of the cafeteria grows silent, and are completely unaware until the moment he stops snacking on his pretzels.

They look up, one by one, at each other, and then at him, before all turning their heads to see what or who it was that is causing the silence.

Fitz wonders whether the situation would be more awkward, had it been one of the attendings they were gossiping about, catching them in the act.

“Why don’t one of you fools try and guess how old I am?”

Chief Fury is standing in what he probably assumes is a commanding position, stance rigid and hands on his hips, but honestly he just looks a little odd.

Not that how he presents himself in any way affects the fear the interns are feeling.

He’s a very domineering person to begin with.

And the eyepatch only adds to the effect.

* * *

 

“-and you make sure he doesn’t eat anything unhealthy. Promise?”

Steve nods solemnly as Pepper finishes her lecture. She’s flying across the country for a week, doing administrational things that he’d rather not know, and Steve and Bruce have been assigned by her to keep watch over Tony, and stop him from resuming his horribly unhealthy eating habits.

Melinda had been initially curious why Pepper was so controlling over what the man put in his mouth; and had just assumed she was one of those ‘health nuts’. A conversation not too long after with Bruce, cleared things up.

Apparently Tony had collapsed during a routine liposuction on a rich client, due to a blockage in one of arteries in his heart, a year or two. It wasn’t hereditary, instead creditable to his lifestyle choices, and he’d had to have major surgery to correct it.

Unfortunately, he’s always had a ‘live for today and not tomorrow’ attitude towards life, and has to be physically restrained in order to keep him away from junk food.

It’s a tiresome task, but someone has to do it.

The attending’s lounge is mostly empty at this time of day - all six ORs are in use, surgeries scheduled one after another, but Melinda only has ten minutes left of her shift, and if no emergencies come in within the hour, she’s free for the evening.

She’s just checking her phone for any new emails or messages when she sees Phil hurry past the room. Turning the screen off and shoving her mobile back into her coat pocket, she quickly rises from her seat and races out to catch him before he’s gone.

“Phil!”

He turns as she calls his name, and pauses, waiting for her to catch up to him.

“Are you free to maybe grab a drink or a quick bite? You finish at eight as well right?”

She places one hand softly onto his arm, and is smiling up at him as she speaks. They’ve been busy with work lately, and have barely seen one another, let alone have enough time to hold a decent conversation.

It’s stupid really, but she misses him.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling for her.

He’s apologetic as he shakes his head.

“Skye’s actually up in my office, waiting for me to clock off.”

She nods quickly.

“Of course.”

He has his priorities, and they can meet up later on in the week if they are free then. He gently pats her hands, and bends down to kiss her cheek, before racing off once more.

Going home, having a hot shower and sleeping early sounds like a better idea than ever right now.

 


	16. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a flu going around at the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Stay With Me by Sam Smith

**Day 97:**

 

_A person is most vulnerable when asleep, and to_   
_invite someone else to be present when you’re_   
_unconscious, it shows an immense amount of trust._   
_It’s a big step, that moment when you don’t let them go, and ask:_   
_“Stay with me?”_

 

“What’s happening down here? I had to let a second year resident close up my transplant patient.”

Steve’s dashing around in the ER, his hair’s a mess and his yellow gown is stained red with blood, and Peggy’s beside him, looking equally stressed and worn out, with a gallons worth of AB negative splashed onto her.

“And my guy’s still lying on the table with his skull flap open.”

Steve skids to a stop in front of Melinda and Bobbi, eye’s weary and shoulders slumped forwards.

“There’s some sort of flu going around, not sure what it is yet but it’s spreading quick. A third of the nurses didn’t show up for the last shift, and it’s already spread to the interns and residents. Even a handful of attendings have called in sick.”

Melinda eyes Bobbi and the Steve, and all three heave a loud sigh. To have a flu going around is definitely not uncommon, especially in a place like a hospital, but usually it doesn’t spread that rapidly, especially to members of staff.

Hygiene is a priority.

And it isn’t even flu season yet.

The surgeries are piling one on top of the other; with so much of the staff out sick, and the ER is growing more and more crowded by the minute, as Steve’s paramedic buddy, Bucky, wheels another patient in.

“If not enough nurses turn up for the next shift, we might have to shut OR 6 down, and bump Stark’s facial reconstruction.”

Understaffing, strangely, is one of the biggest reasons for a decline in top notch patient care and rapid response to injuries.

“Which attendings are out for the next shift?”

“Maria, Vic and Bruce will be; they’ve been on call for nearly forty eight hours and if I let them operate, we might end up with several malpractice lawsuits against us. Clint didn’t show up for his last shift; I don’t know if he’s coming in, and Natasha is supposed to replace you, but no ones seen her around either.”

Melinda and Bobbi turn to one another and shrug. They have no trouble at all understanding the meaning behind Steve’s words.

An attending in your specialty is away?

Absent?

Unavailable?

Goodbye sleep and hello, double the workload.

* * *

 

Natasha is standing outside an apartment marked 4H, and is pressing her finger insistently against the doorbell.

“Clint?”

She tries knocking against the hardwood, but there’s no response.

“Clint!”

She’s well aware she’s almost yelling at this point, but Clint hasn’t been answering his phone, and he had been acting strange the past few days.

She’s worried.

“If you don’t open this door right now, I’m going to bust it down!”

She’s not joking, well not really, and she’s not afraid of disrupting any of his neighbours by yelling either. 4G was a young businessman who at this time of day is more than likely at work, and 4F was a middle aged spinster who is probably trolling the aisles at the local supermarkets for sales.

“Clint!”

Still no response.

As much as she wants to kick his door down, it seems like it’d probably be a bitch to clean up, and she has his spare key in her pocket. She hates using it; it’s like having access to one’s place of solitude, and somehow it feels wrong to do so.

But he’s not answering his door, and he didn’t  turn up to start his evening shift last night when she was coming off hers. She quickly unlocks his front door and lets herself inside.

The interior of his apartment appears normal, nothing is really out of place as far as she can tell. It’s tidy; Clint enjoys cleaning, and he can be quite pedantic about how his books are ordered on the shelves, and that the forks and spoons are not mixed in the cutlery drawers. That of course, is only the beginning.

She takes the familiar path towards his bedroom, trailing her fingertips over the walls in an attempt to slow her breathing down.

“Clint?”

This time, her shout is met with a soft groan, and she can feel her heart rate increasing as she runs the last few steps to his bedroom, throwing the door open without a second thought.

The room is warm, warmer than the rest of the apartment, and the air inside is almost hard to breathe. There are balled up tissues littering the mahogany floorboards, and the sheets have been thrown off the bed, is empty save for Clint, who is curled up around a large pillow.

His hair is matted, his sweat drenched clothing adhered to his body and an expression of pain upon his face.

“Боже мой.”

She’s at his side in the blink of an eye, clambering up onto the bed and pressing a hand to his forehead, the other curling around his shoulder.

He’s burning up, just as she suspected. He’s in a fever-induced haze, and buries his face deeper into the pillow as she runs her hand over his back, trying to let him know that she is there, right beside him.

His eyes are bloodshot when he finally opens them, and his vision is blurry, but he can make out Natasha’s face hovering above him.

“Nat..” he manages to croak out, before sputtering and coughing, almost uncontrollably.

She pats him gently on the back to ease the coughs out, placing her other hand back onto his forehead, her thumb and forefinger smoothing out the furrows in his brow.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

He looks awful; his face has taken on a sickly pallor, and yet his cheeks are still heated and red, his body temperature much too high, his breaths coming out ragged, as if it were too painful to even breathe.

“Have you taken anything? Ibuprofen, Paracetamol?”

She brushes her hand through his hair, fingers softly massaging his scalp as he nods slowly, and she nods, more for her own sake than anything. She needs to lower his temperature, get him a change of clothes, make him something to eat; anything to speed up his recovery. It’s hard seeing him like this.

She moves to rise, planning to head to the bathroom and fill the tub, because he’s covered in sweat and that will do nothing to help the fever, but stops when he grabs her wrist, with as much as force as he can probably muster in this state.

“Don’t go.”

Sighing, she unwraps his fingers from around her wrist, and rubs soothing circles into his palm with her thumb.

“I’m just going to run you a bath, okay? I’ll be right back.”

He shakes his head, face still half concealed against his pillow as he makes a noise akin to a whine. It’s so soft that she almost misses the words he mutters, muffled against the bedding.

“You always leave me.”

He’s drifting off to sleep again, she can tell, just moments after he speaks. He’s tired, he’s feverish, she wants to tell herself that he probably doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it’s not the first time she’s heard these words from him.

She runs her hand up and down his back until she’s sure he’s asleep, and then quietly shifts towards the edge of the bed before easing herself off. She heads off into the bathroom, flicking on the lights because for some odd reason, he doesn’t have a window in there, before moving over to the tub, plugging the drain and turning on the hot water.

The water is scalding hot as she lowers her hands in to test the temperature, but it will undoubtedly cool down by the time she manages to lug him in there. She walks back into the bedroom and begins rifling through his closet, pulling out a pair of pajamas for him to change in to.

Setting them down by the bathroom cabinet, she returns to Clint, clambering back up onto the bed beside him, and gently shaking him awake. He condition appears to have only worsened since she arrived, and it takes nearly all the strength she has in her to pull him up, supporting his entire body as they slowly shuffle towards the bathroom.

She drops him quite ungracefully into the tub, before shutting off the water, and almost wrestling his clothes off. He’s rather dazed, and completely uncooperative, so she grabs a sponge and some body soap and starts cleaning him off. His eyes are closed, but he’s not unconscious, his mind is more than likely blank from exhaustion.

It’s a slow process, but she eventually manages to get him tucked back up in bed with fresh sheets and clean clothes, and he’s sleeping soundly as she clears the mess from the floors and mops up the water that’s been splashed, well, everywhere.

She’s rummaging around in his kitchen in nothing more than her panties and an old t-shirt of Clint’s, because half the water from the bath had ended up drenching her as she struggled to pull him from the bath.

Its cliche, plain and boring, but chicken soup is a classic and she’s not sure Clint can stomach some of the things they used to feed her when she was sick, back in mother Russia. His fridge, unsurprisingly, is fully stocked, and she just throws everything into a big stock pot that sits beside the electric stove.

She keeps his bedroom door open, so she can watch to make sure he’s okay whilst she cooks. By the time the soup is done, whatever medication that he’d taken earlier is more than likely already losing effect, so she pours him a glass of water, before ladling out the clear stock into a porcelain bowl.

She sets the soup and water down on his bedside table, and rummages through the drawer, fishing out a half empty bottle of pills, placing the bottle beside the water.

He probably has enough energy to feed himself, but she places one hand on his chest, forcing him to lie back against the pillows she propped up onto the headboard as she slowly spoon feeds him the soup. When the bowl is empty, she places two round tablets in his palm and hands him the water, watching closely to make sure he’s swallowed before returning the water to it’s original position.

“Are you feeling any better?” she asks, feeling his forehead once more.

He seems cooler now, less tense and more relaxed. She’s satisfied when he nods, and she inches closer, placing a kiss to his still warm forehead.

“I’m going to head to work then, there’s more soup on the stov-”

She’s cut off as he grabs her, her arm this time, and he’s definitely feeling better because his grip is so much stronger.

“Stay.”

“Clint.”

“Natasha. You know how I feel about you. Why won’t you stay with me?”

He’s still sick; still unwell, his grip on her is weakening with every second that passes, but she’s still rooted to the spot, not by his hold but by his words.

“You don’t have to love me back, just don’t leave me.”

The desperation in his voice is evident, and if human hearts were capable of breaking, her’s just did.

“Clint.”

“I’m sorry. It’s the fever talking, my brain is fried.”

He’s looking away from her now, and she knows that he’s adamant about the fact that grown men don’t cry, because they’ve been best friends since the day they met, when he recruited her to Shield Memorial. The relationship developed a physical component not too long after, and things had been easy, until last Valentine’s Day when he’d taken her out, presented her flowers and asked to take the next step. She’d expected things to end the moment she said no, but he smiled and promised he would wait, and that he did.

She doesn’t know what love is, not really. But this, she supposes it feels a little like this. Clint had seemed fine, like he was okay with their arrangement; she never realised how much it must have hurt him.

She reaches out a hand and turns his head to face her, and sure enough, there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. She leans across and kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and she shifts so she’s straddling his lap, and he tries to push her away, because he’s sick and contagious, but she resists, because American illnesses can’t seem to penetrate her immune system.

When she finally pulls away, he averts his gaze, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Я не могу жить без тебя”

She knows he’s comprehended her words when he smiles softly, and she moves off him, slipping into the empty spot on the other side of the bed, and pulling the covers back over the two of them.

He dozes off quickly, and she’s content to listen to his ragged breaths as she curls up against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

Work can wait.

* * *

 

Melinda feels like a dead man walking when Natasha finally shows up, hours late, and she can go home and get some sleep in before her next shift begins. Steve’s off too, and he’s giving her a ride home, even though she’s not sure he should be driving because the bags under his eyes are so heavy they might actually cause him to tip over.

They pass by Phil’s office on the way out, and he’s in there with Skye, checking over her homework. She waves in greeting, and the pair wave back, and she doesn’t even stop to say hello, because she’s so desperate to get home, she doesn’t want to delay it for a moment.

And the whole Steve might collapse soon thing is a worry too.

So a wave is all they exchange, and she feels a little empty on the inside, not just physically thanks to a lack of food, but mentally, metaphorically, because she misses him, misses the contact.

But whatever they have can wait, because they both know that work is a priority.


	17. Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the ladies go out to Peggy's favourite 1940s style diner for brunch, and Clintasha are being all cute with their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Without You by Mariah Carey

**Day 100:**

 

_You can’t choose family, you’re born with them._   
_I choose to believe that state is complete and_   
_utter crap. Anyone can become family, over_   
_time. Everyone needs family; an old friend, someone_   
_you’ve taken a journey with, a pet even._   
_My relationship with my mother was, well, complicated_   
_in the beginning, but I chose to keep her in my life._

_You just have to ask yourself:_

_Do I want to know what it’s like without you here beside me?_

 

“Are you alright?”

It feels strange for Melinda to be saying these words, to be asking this question, especially when she’s directing them to Peggy, because their roles up until this point, have always been the reverse. She’s never been particularly skilled at picking up on other people’s emotions, but she’s learning.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Peggy’s voice is calm, her face relaxed, and she’s carrying on as if there’s nothing wrong, but there’s something off. Melinda can’t exactly pinpoint what is actually wrong, why Peggy is different, but she can feel it. Her gaze is a little more downcast, her stride not as wide and her head isn’t tilted in it’s normal position, the one that gives her a vantage point when looking down at people.

It could be any number of things that are causing this, but it’s really difficult to tell.

“So why did we drive half an hour out for lunch, and where’s Steve?”

Ahh, well that seems to be the crux of the issue, because Peggy flinches at the mention of Steve’s name. It’s so slight, barely a twitch, and anyone else may have missed it, but surgeons are trained to pick up on the smallest things, and as bad as Melinda is at reading emotions, she can see the body’s physical reactions just fine.

“It’s my preferred place to have a meal; I try to avoid bringing male companions, because I’m friends with one of the waitresses here and she’s a little excitable.”

Melinda is about to ask her what she means by excitable, when they turn a corner and reach the 1940s style diner, complete with a flashy neon sign spelling L & L Automat, above the entrance. Bobbi is waiting for them by the revolving doors, a rolled up newspaper tucked under one arm, a branded handbag slung over the other shoulder.

She turns her attention away from her phone, sliding it into the back pocket of her jeans when she sees them approach.

“Nice day to be out and about. Not cooped up in an OR,” Bobbi says in greeting, and Melinda nods with a soft sigh. She hadn’t appreciated LA enough back when the sun was there all year long, always stuck at the hospital working, not bothering to take time for herself, just to relax.

They enter through the revolving doors, and Peggy leads them over to her regular booth, which is surprisingly situated somewhere close to the center of the place. The diner is quite empty, only a handful of customers scattered throughout.

A waitress, whose pale blue and orange garb fits right in with the style and theme that the diner appears to have, speeds over to their table barely a minute after they’ve sat down, with a bright smile and a pen and pad of paper in hand.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t have any friends beside me,” she says, and Melinda can only guess that this ‘Angie’ person, as the white plastic name tag pinned onto her uniform spelled out, is the overly excitable waitress that Peggy half heartedly warned her about earlier.

Peggy rolls her eyes as she slides the menu in front of her towards Bobbi, only pretending to be annoyed at Angie’s words. They place their orders, Peggy going for ‘the usual’ and Melinda and Bobbi just nodding along as Angie proceeds to relay a truckload of news and updates to Peggy, who appears to know exactly how to respond.

By the time the three of them each have a plateful of food and a drink each, the diner is beginning to fill up, and all the staff are dashing around serving customers.

“So, how are things between you and Lance?”

“Are you asking because you care, or because you have money riding on it.”

The expression on Bobbi’s face is one of mock anger, because behind the creased brows and hard stare, there’s a smile trying it’s best not to break out. Despite the fact that she doesn’t actually appear to be mad, which would be the rational reaction if one found out their closest friends have a running bet on how disastrous their love life is, Peggy is effectively silenced, and looks down awkwardly at her plate, fingers beginning to pick at her blueberry scone.

“I’m in on the game, anonymously of course. I had hundred bucks on the wrong day last time; and I always seem to lose money, which bugs me, because this totally should have been an easy way for me to win cash. And you’d think I would have an advantage because I’m the one we’re all betting on.”

Her tone is lighthearted, and she smiles as she speaks, and that soothes Peggy’s worries about the fact that she may have inadvertently offended her friend.

“And Hunter, he’s like too many shots of vodka during a wild night out. It’s amazing and fantastic, even euphoric while you’re doing it, but all you’re left with the next morning is a raging hangover and you swear never to do it again. But the next time you go out, you give in and it never ends.”

Melinda has to admire Bobbi’s stance on her relationship with her ex, but her comparison sounds scarily like an addiction, and the doctor in her wants more than anything to make sure that Bobbi is okay. But she’s a grown woman, and clearly has a plethora of life experience, and from the little that Melinda does know about her, she appears to have her head firmly screwed on.

“Enough about me. How are you and Phil?”

Melinda glances cautiously down at her hands, holding a knife in one and a fork in the other, and sets them down gently against the table surface before flicking her gaze back up towards Bobbi.

Truth be told, she doesn’t know how to answer that question.

After their breakfast date, where she may or may not have asked Phil a little too much about his past, they haven’t gone out again. Work is busier than ever, and Skye’s almost always at the hospital after school these days, because she and Phil have a routine, and the last thing Melinda wants to do is disrupt that.

She’s also not sure of what their “relationship” actually is in the first place. They showed one another affection in public and private, and have had a couple dates together. She’s met his daughter. They weren’t “together”, and they weren’t exclusive, and she’s in all honesty, a little confused about where they stand at the moment.

But that’s hardly something she wants to share with friends over breakfast, in public no less, so she smiles and answers with a statement that’s completely true, yet feels like a lie.

“We’ve been a little too busy with work to think about anything else.”

Bobbi nods, almost knowingly, and it appears her answer is acceptable, because with that, she turns her attention to Peggy, who looks a little like a chipmunk right now, cheeks puffed out, mouth stuffed to the brim with a second scone, this one plain.

“So. How’s Steve?”

* * *

 

When Melinda enters the attending’s lounge between surgeries for quick snack in the afternoon, the room is almost completely empty, which is a rarity. But everyone is on alert, working longer and harder than usual to make up for the lack of numbers they have, thanks to those stupid infectious diseases that some of the patients keep bringing in.

The only other occupants of the lounge are Natasha and Clint, and as Melinda approaches to sit opposite them, a platter of crackers and vegetable sticks surrounding a selection of three dips in her hands, she raises a brow at Natasha.

Clint is asleep, or so she assumes, because he is currently curled up on the couch, head resting on Natasha’s lap, his face turned towards her midsection, one hand fisted around the navy blue material of her shirt. Natasha has one hand just barely hovering against his side, the other running through his hair, continuously.

“What happened here?” Melinda whispers, gaze flickering between Clint’s sleeping form and Natasha’, who is smiling, almost sappily, as she continues rub her fingertips across his scalp.

“You don’t have to worry about waking him. He sleeps like a brick. And his hearing aid is out-” she taps a finger against his ear “-and his good ear is pressed against my thigh, so he won’t be able to hear you anyway.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s tired. He fell asleep.”

“Not what I meant.”

Melinda smirks as Natasha glares at her; riling her up had been quite amusing back in the day, and she’s glad that hasn’t changed.

“Fine. But since we’re both here, why do you keep setting Steve up with women?”

“Because he’s been there, done that, with men?”

“Natasha!”

Her tone is disapproving yet amused at the same time,, and Natasha laughs, slightly jostling Clint’s head, but he doesn’t seem to have awoken, only shuffling closer to her and burying his face against her stomach.

“Seeing Steve with other girls, I think it’s making Peggy uncomfortable.”

Melinda honestly didn’t think that so many of her conversations with her female co-workers and friends could be about the men in their lives, and these topics were certainly not discussed back at her old hospital, at least not when she took part in the conversation anyway.

“Good.”

Melinda frowns, hand pausing midway through the motion of dunking another carrot stick into the hummus.

“Forgive me for asking, but what on earth is that supposed to mean?”

There are a dozen scenarios running through her mind at the moment, and none of them seem quite right, and Natasha is looking smug all over again.

“It’s a long story. And you have a surgery.”

Well apparently she is going to have to wait to find out. Giving Natasha one last eyeroll, she grabs the platter and sticks it back into the fridge for whoever may want it next, and leaves the room.

The last thing she sees is Clint wrapping himself even closer and tighter around Natasha.


	18. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the ladies discuss Project "Peggy x Steve", and Natasha wants to set Melinda up with Drew from Pathology because she and Phil are kind of not dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarity by Zedd ft. Foxes

**Day 106:**

 

_The human mind, like anything else in life, can have moments where,_   
_well, this may not be the politically correct term for it, but, malfunctions._   
_When you’re too focused on one aspect of life, your brain can_   
_sort of short out, and thoughts of all other things become inaccessible._   
_Stay calm, take a moment, take a deep breath. Take some time,_   
_to think. Don’t let yourself become too occupied with one thing,_   
_relax and expand your horizons. It’s all a little zen._   
_There’ll be a moment of clarity, when you realise what’s really important._

Melinda has the morning off, and if everything in life were to go her way, she’d be at breakfast with Phil, because the degree to which she misses him is almost getting painfully unbearable.

But life just likes to mess with her.

Phil’s at the hospital doing what is probably an emergency procedure, because he should have had the morning off; she’d texted him earlier and he had just replied with a quick “sorry. busy. surgery.”  The short message and curt words hurt, and she’s more than a little ashamed to admit that, but it’s been nearly a month since they’ve spent any time together.

They went from being co-workers, to acquaintances, to sort of going out on dates together in the blink of an eye, and the attraction had been there from the beginning, for her at least.

She doesn’t know what Phil is thinking, or how he feels, but to her, it feels a little like he’s been avoiding her lately, which she keeps telling herself is ridiculous. Self doubt, worrying about how others see her; she doesn’t believe in it, but whatever she’s feeling right now seems closer to that than she’s ever been.

He’s busy; that’s normal, they’d just happened to meet a time where he had more time on his hands, and now that life is back to the way it is, he has priorities and she just has to stop being such a child about it. She, in all honestly, is close to sitting in front of a mirror and scolding herself just for having such thoughts.

So Phil’s in surgery and her mind is full of crap because the elevator ride up to Natasha’s apartment is so long. She’s up on the top floor with Steve; the two penthouse apartments are almost identical, separated by a wide hallway and accessible only via the lift at one end.

Natasha had invited her over, and after her morning had freed up, she’d called her to inquire if her earlier offer was still open. After another agonizing twenty seconds cooped up inside the closed-in metal room, she finally arrives on the thirty-eighth floor, and she exits the elevator, making sure to knock on the door on her right hand side and not the left.

Natasha answers the door in a t-shirt and mini shorts, her hair pinned up into a loose bun and a cheery smile on her face.

“You’re here. Good. Maria’s waiting in the kitchen,” Natasha says as she ushers Melinda into her apartment.

Melinda’s visited a couple of times before today; Natasha’s apartment is decorated with a modern touch in a black and white theme. She slowly makes her way towards the kitchen, again admiring the decor as she passes by.

Natasha is only a couple steps behind her as she enters the room, and Maria is sitting on a white barstool at a large counter, where a large touchscreen has been installed on the surface.

She hops up onto a second white stool, leaving the black one between her and Maria for Natasha, who has now made her way over to the kettle, fixing a mug of hot tea for Melinda and a cup of coffee for herself.

Melinda accepts the mug with a gracious “thank you” as Natasha rejoins them, sliding easily into her seat, wrapping both hands around her own cup, suddenly adopting a serious expression and clearing her throat.

“I have gathered you here today, to bear witness to the fruit of my labour, well, okay, I need your help.”

The beginning is quite dramatic, Melinda has to admit, but Natasha has difficulty keeping the suspense for too long and caves.

“As Maria and I were discussing before you got here”- Natasha’s speech is evidently directed at Melinda right now “-we’ve been trying to get Steve a girlfriend for close to a year now.”

Melinda nods, and motions for her continue with one hand, the other tightly clutching the mug filled with black tea.

“Well the girlfriend we’re trying to get Steve is Peggy. He’s too, well to put it bluntly, stupid, to ask her out, and I can’t very well set them up. So Maria and I have been picking out girls that don’t fit his dating profile, well, to subtly influence Peggy to make the first move.”

Melinda wants to slam her face against the tabletop, because she’s used to Natasha’s meddlesome personality, and her plans more often than not, end in disaster.

She has a feeling this won’t be any different.

* * *

 

It’s the late afternoon now, and Maria had dropped Melinda and Natasha off at the hospital before heading home for some much needed sleep. Melinda can only assume that home is code for bar, and sleep is code for alcohol.

They’re sitting together at one of the nurses stations, reading through a set of patient files together, but again, when Natasha is around, not much work ever gets done.

“So, now that you and Phil aren’t a thing any more, are you interested in a set up?”

After Melinda had revealed that the overload of women in Steve’s life bothered Peggy, she considered her plan a success and is now looking for her next conquest.

Melinda is well aware that going from daily public exchanges of affection, to barely speaking for weeks, whatever it is that she and Phil have, or had, appears as though it has ended, at least to anyone who has eyes and ears.

Stop being such a baby.

She attempts to pretend that she hasn’t heard Natasha’s question, concentrating on the scans in the file she is scanning. This is what matters; her career, saving people. She has to do her job before she can reward herself by seeking out things that make her personal life enjoyable; she’s an adult, a grown up, she can’t let herself pine over what she can’t have.

“Drew from Pathology. Just say the word and you could have a date tomorrow evening.”

Melinda looks up from her files, glaring at Natasha.

“Before you start meddling with my personal life, why don’t you tell me what’s going on between you and your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my-” she pauses, huffing out a breath and pouting ”-Clint and I are great.”

Whatever Melinda had suspected about Natasha’s relationship with Clint is confirmed by the younger woman’s words. Something has changed between them, for the better, and Melinda is more than ecstatic for them, because Natasha didn’t have the easiest childhood, and it’s nice to see her finding someone to be by her side.

“I’m glad.”

* * *

 

It’s nearly eleven, and Melinda has just finished scrubbing out of a five hour procedure on an ageing patient. Had his family members not insisted on the surgery, she would have preferred not to operate - the risks were far too great, but she manages to save him anyway.

She’s on call until eight the next morning, so all she plans to do right now is head back to her office, lock up and take a quick nap on the couch before another emergency that requires her attention turns up.

She’s a little light-headed, because she skipped lunch and there wasn’t time to eat before the surgery, and she stops in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the stares from people passing by as she contemplates which she needs more; sleep or food?

The code team is rushing down the hall, and she steps back, bracing herself against the wall to give them space to pass. The thought of heading upstairs and sleeping sounds very appealing right about now, but she might not have time to eat later, and she hardly wants to pass out during her next surgery.

Even a cold sandwich will do.

Pressing a hand to her forehead, she rubs at her temples, using her other arm to push herself off from the wall, and she begins her journey to the attending’s lounge, just one floor down. She doesn’t make it very far, because after only three steps, she hears her name being called.

It’s Phil. She turns and he’s walking towards her, rushing, almost running actually, speeding up as he grows closer.

She’s happy to see him; he looks much better than her at this time of night, fresh and rejuvenated, and she knows that her hair is messy and there are bags under her eyes, but one’s appearance is not significant, especially during a night shift at work.

She’s a cardiothoracic surgeon, and she’s perfectly aware that a heart can’t ‘flutter’, but it sure feels like it when he reaches for her wrist with one hand. She manages a small smile, but it quickly fades when she notices his expression, stern and unwelcoming, a deep frown marring his forehead as he looks down at her.

Before she has a chance to say anything he’s pulling her towards a supply closet, and she doesn’t make a sound, not wanting to draw any more attention than his actions already have. He opens the door, tugging her inside with him, and he releases her hand as he busies himself with securing the lock on the door. She takes the few seconds he is occupied to try and calm herself, completely unsure as to how to react in this situation.

She doesn’t have a chance to, because moments later, a pair of arms lock around her waist, and she finds herself being pulled tightly against Phil, her back to his chest as he buries his face into the crook of her neck.

“I’m sorry.”

His warm breath tickles the back of her ear and she feels herself relaxing in his embrace as he continues whispering softly to her.

“I’ve missed you so much these past couple weeks, and I know it’s all my fault, because I’ve been so busy and I haven’t made any time for you and I hate myself for that.”

She frowns at his final statement, and turns in his arms, which loosen their grip to allow her to do so.

“It’s not your fault.”

She places one hand on his cheek as she speaks, looking up into his eyes; the lighting in here is weak, but they’re still a brilliant shade of blue that is quickly becoming her favourite colour.

He smiles now, finally, and he leans down a little, just so their foreheads are pressing together, and her arms hook around his neck as she presses herself closer, his hold on her tightening at the same time.

‘I heard Natasha was trying to set you up with Drew from Pathology.”

Gossip evidently travels far and wide here. And fast.

“She doesn’t like that I’m single.”

Their smiles grow, and he removes one arm from around her waist so he can stroke her cheek.

“Well, in that case, do you want to be not single? With me of course”

She almost giggles at how dorky he is, and gently nods her head, and now he’s beaming down at her, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. She feels so happy.

Who needs sleep or food?

She leans up and presses her lips against his, her fingers trailing up into his hair and his hands are everywhere, cupping her face, on her shoulders, around her, holding them together.

They don’t leave the closet for another fifteen minutes, and when they do, her hair is even more wild than before, hanging loosely around her shoulders, and he has the biggest grin plastered onto his face.

Their fingers stay laced together, and Melinda wonders how her mother would react to her having her first real boyfriend at the age of thirty.

 


	19. Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Peggy and Melinda in their younger days, and a pizza date at Melinda's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Reason by Hoobastank

**Day 110:**

 

_There is a reason behind each and every choice_   
_that is made. The concept was difficult to grasp_   
_when I was younger; watching Snow White and the_   
_Seven Dwarves, even I as a six year old, would have made_   
_the choice not to let the evil witch into my house._   
_Of course, that’s a fairy tale movie, and choices you_   
_make as an adult are very different. Just remember,_   
_before questioning anyone’s decisions, consider that there’s_   
_reason why they did what they did._

 

**Somewhere in Pennsylvania, nearly ten years ago**

 

“Are you sure you should be up and walking around?”

Melinda doesn’t respond to Peggy, who is standing in front of her, looking more concerned than ever. Wincing, she pulls on a loose blue dress that reaches just below her knees. She’s exhausted, her whole body feels as though it’s on fire, but she just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Melinda?”

“You’re a doctor, why don’t you tell me?”

Peggy gently probes at the bandage covering part of her head and sighs, grabbing Melinda's things, ignoring her protests, as she places a hand on her shoulder and slowly guides her out of the room.

Every step is painful, but she just grits her teeth and ignores it; she can only imagine what her mother would say if she saw her now. Probably something akin to; “you brought this on yourself.”

Peggy doesn’t try to start a conversation, and the pair remain in silence until they arrive at Peggy’s temporary apartment.

“When does your residency begin?”

Melinda’s grateful for the change in topic, and breathes a sigh of relief as she drops gently down onto the large arm chair at one end of the living room.

“Mid-July.”

“And you’ll be moving to LA next month?”

Melinda nods.

Her parents, however hyper-critical and disapproving they were of her at times, had already procured her an apartment near the hospital where she would be working at for at least the next five years, and she’s looking forward to leaving this part of her life behind, and beginning the next.

“And you know I’m going back to England soon?”

Melinda realises with a pang that her only friend has already stayed in the states for quite some time now, and is due to return home soon. She’s not the type of person to admit it, but she’ll really miss Peggy.

“I promise to visit you in L.A when you’re a hot shot surgeon.”

Peggy smiles at Melinda and is surprised to see her returning the expression - it’s the first time she has in so very long.

“Have you had a thought about what specialty you’d like to focus on?”

“Cardio.”

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

It’s the beginning of October now, and the drop in temperature outside is not too sudden, but it’s evidently colder, and meteorologists have already warned everyone to expect an extra chilly winter this year.

Phil has never been to England, but evidently, British people have a tolerance for the cold that he does not share, because when he opens his door that evening, Jemma is standing there in a t-shirt and half length pants.

“Hello sir, you’re looking smart tonight.”

“Jemma. Aren’t you cold?”

She shrugs, shaking her head; and he knows that is only with great control that she doesn’t start spewing scientific facts about the mind and the body, because he went through all that back in medical school and she’s only a third year student.

“Skye, I’m leaving now,” he calls, and he waits patiently for her to finish whatever it is that she’s doing in her room.

Skye comes running towards him nearly a minute later, still dressed in her the outfit she had chosen for school this morning. She has a cheeky grin on, and he can only imagine the horrors that might come out of her mouth.

“Now, just because Melinda agreed to date you, it doesn’t mean anything. She can still dump you at any time, so you’ve got to be on your best behaviour.”

If Phil were to say that he couldn’t believe his nine year old daughter was giving him a lecture, along with dating advice, that would be one giant lie. Skye had always been invested in his love life, even more so after Natasha moved to town and filled her mind with all these crazy ideas.

He decides the best way to handle it is to just agree with her, so he nods, accepting her words of wisdom, and bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ll be back at ten.”

She waves him goodbye, and Jemma has already escaped to the kitchen to prepare dinner, not wanting to listen in on their strange conversation.

As he exits his apartment and closes the door behind him, he hears her call out ‘Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do”, and smacks his hand against his face.

A certain russian redhead will be getting a stern talking to the next time he sees her.

* * *

 

Melinda has just finished drying her hair when there’s a knock on her door. It’s either the pizza delivery person, or Phil, but she’s willing to tip the pizza place heftily if it is them, because it’s friday night and she put in the order only thirty minutes ago, just before she got in the shower.

Grabbing her wallet from her bag, she pulls out a stack of notes and hurries out of her bedroom, placing the cash into the glass bowl meant for holding her keys, before unlocking the front door.

Phil’s standing there with a smug smile, and a pizza box his hands, and she reminds herself to order from a different place next time, because evidently, their delivery people are way too trusting.

“Did you threaten the pizza delivery boy and steal my food?” she asks with a smile as she lets him in, bolting the door shut behind them.

“I asked very nicely,” he responds, setting the box down onto the coffee table.

She rolls her eyes at him and takes his coat, smoothing it out and placing it carefully over the back of a chair, because the material seems like it might crease and wrinkle easily. He’s still standing where she left him moments ago, and she grabs his hand as she approaches, pulling him over and down onto the couch with her.

They’ve made sure to take the time to be together, ever since they ‘defined the relationship’ and he started referring to her as his girlfriend. It’s been barely a week since then, and they’ve seen each other every day, and it’s really, really, well... nice. That’s the simple way to explain it.

Leaning over, she grabs the box and drops it into his lap, his hands shooting out just quickly enough to catch it before it slid off his knees and onto the floor.

“I’ll be right back.”

She can feel his gaze following her as she escapes into the kitchen, digging around for plates, because she doesn’t want to pay to get Peggy’s couch reupholstered if they managed to get pizza on to it. She also pulls a large bottle of fizzy soda from the fridge, and pours them a glass each before replacing it to it’s original position.

With a glass in each hand, and two paper plates sitting on top of one of the glasses, she heads back into the lounge room, and Phil immediately rises to help her, setting the pizza box down on the table and taking the plates from where they were balancing precariously. She’s about to set the glasses down when he stops her, dropping to his knees and looking around below the table, grinning triumphantly as he fishes out two coasters.

“Phil,” she says, rolling her eyes as she places the glasses on to the simple looking ceramic coasters that Phil had managed to find. She hadn’t even known they were there.

They both settle back down onto the coach, Phil opening the pizza box and pulling out a slice for Melinda, handing it to her on the flimsy cardboard plate, before grabbing a portion for himself.

She curls up beside him, tucking her feet beneath her and leaning into his side, and they finish off their first slices in silence, just enjoying the company.

“I know we said pizza and a movie, but I’d much rather learn more about you,” Phil says as he opens the box again and fishes out another two slices.

She accepts her plate as he passes it back to her, and tilts her head to one side as she processes his words.

“What do you want to know?”

She begins to eat, slowly nibbling on the crust as he thinks about what he wants to ask her; she can almost see the questions flying around in his mind, and can only hope he doesn’t ask ones she won’t be able to give him an answer to.

“I don’t even know where you’re from.”

“L.A. Before that, Philadelphia. You ever been?”

“I’ve been to California several times, and I’ve visited Philadelphia once.”

They continue eating as he quizzes her on more aspects of her life, and he’s delighted by every fact he learns, however small and insignificant she herself finds them. Soon, the only thing left in the box is a greasy stain, and their glasses have been drained.

He’s playing with her hair as she relays to him her first solo surgery, and how it was a complete disaster in the beginning, and how the attending in charge was extremely unhelpful and unsupportive. He smiles when she gets to the end of the story, the part about where she finally got her act together and saved the man’s life.

She giggles softly as he tugs at a strand, and moves in closer towards her. He rests his chin on her shoulder, and takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent.

“I know I’ve said this before, but you smell really nice.”

She rolls her eyes at him, even though she knows that he can’t see it, and prods him gently in the stomach, causing him to pull back.

“You know, that’s a little bit creepy.”

He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed due to her words, but she just nudges him again with another smile, and leans over, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Just a little.”


	20. Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda goes shopping with Natasha and Clint, and then she and Phil have a movie outing with Skye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Happy Ending by MIKA

**Day 118:**

 

_Have you ever read a story, seen a film, watched a television program,_   
_and gone, wow, if the story stopped here, just at this very point,_   
_then everyone would have a happy ending? But when you read or watch on,_   
_the character’s worlds come crumbling down around them,_   
_lives are lost, and you just wished that the story had stopped before that point._

 

When Natasha announces she is heading off for her monthly shopping trip for clothing purposes, Melinda, despite her knowledge surrounding the effects of spending too much time with the younger woman, tags along, because she is in a dire need of clothing for the winter months.

So here she is, sitting across from Clint outside a dressing room, waiting for Natasha to come out in what may be the seventh outfit of the hour.

It’s been a pretty successful morning so far; Melinda’s managed to purchase a few sweaters and a scarf or two - it’s definitely more than enough for her, but Natasha’s appetite for fashion is unsated, even after visiting over two dozen boutiques and stores, and buying nearly half the contents of each place, as evidenced by the multiple shopping bags by Clint’s feet.

“What do you think?” Natasha calls out as she pulls back the curtain and walks towards then, doing a little turn so they can see the back as well. The question is directed at Melinda however, because Clint is useless in these situations - only smiling and nodding and telling Natasha that she is beautiful no matter what she is wearing. Which is sweet, but really doesn’t help.

“Go for the green one, it matches your eyes,” Melinda offers, because she’s terrible with advice in general, and Natasha’s already tried on three dresses of different colours in the same style.

They leave this particular store twenty minutes later, with another three bags slung onto Clint’s arms as he follows behind them. Melinda only has one bag, and is more than capable of carrying it herself; Natasha on the other hand, has close to a dozen, all being lugged around by her poor boyfriend.

“Aren’t you being a little mean?”

They’re about three metres ahead of Clint, weaving around the busy mall, and Melinda is seriously wondering if Natasha is aware how many things she ended up buying. They both pause and turn back to Clint, letting him catch up a little before continuing.

“I like making him carry my things, it gives him purpose. Seriously, you should try it sometime.”

“I can carry my own things.”

Melinda is inclined to remind Natasha that Clint is not her slave or servant or butler even, and that she should really treat him with a little more respect; but it’s their relationship, and she can do whatever she wants. It’s definitely something Melinda will not be trying; why depend on someone else for something that you can handle, yourself.

Of course, Clint seems more than willing to follow Natasha around, and his devotion is quite sweet. She’s pretty sure however, that the poor guy has a shift in a couple hours, and now would be the prime time for him to get some sleep, but instead, he’s wrangling shopping bags at a mall.

“Well, I better get going,” Melinda says, checking her phone.

It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, and she agreed earlier on in the week to meet up with Phil and Skye for a movie. She doesn’t know how appropriate it is to be spending time with his daughter so early on in their relationship , but Phil insists that she is the first girlfriend that Skye’s has approved of so far, and that it’ll go great.

She’s not around children unless they’re sick, and even then, it’s the doctors in pediatrics like Phil who know how to handle them. Phil’s daughter is sweet, and charming, and Melinda hopes that they’ll get along well.

Phil did assure her that Skye likes the fact that he has a girlfriend now, and that she appears to like her so far, but his words may well have just been there to soothe Melinda’s fears. Her track record with kids so far is awful at best, and Skye may very well decide that Melinda isn’t the one for her father.

She just hopes the day will go well.

* * *

 

“Skye, you have to promise me you’ll be on your best behaviour today.”

Phil’s sitting across the table from his daughter, watching as she slowly cuts another corner off her french toast and dunks it into maple syrup. She drops her fork onto her plate with a clang and crosses her arms, glaring at him.

“I already told you I liked her. I’m not going to try and sabotage your relationship.”

Phil sighs, placing his own utensils gently down before leaning back into his seat.

“You know what I mean.”

Skye’s expression suddenly turns even more serious, and she shuffles closer, barely sitting on the edge of her chair.

“Are you scared that she won’t like me?”

As playful and meddling as she acts, Phil knows his daughter. She’s rambunctious, a rule breaker, and loves nothing more than messing with people, but her insecurities about how others view her have always been there.

He rises from his seat and reaches her in three strides, pulling her into his arms.

“I want you to be yourself today, alright? You are the most important to me, I want you to be happy. Always.”

Phil has always made it clear that his daughter will always be his number one priority, and he knows that Melinda understands that.

“But I want you to be happy too.”

Phil smiles as he holds Skye closer, one hand petting her dark hair. She’s so grown up now, so mature. He’s never been prouder.

“I am happy. I have you.”

He frowns as she pushes him softly away, and gives him a stern expression, and he has a feeling he’s about to receive another one of her lectures.

“Dad. You know I love you. But I am going to leave you one day, when I’m older and have a job and get a boyfriend, and then you’ll be all alone.”

He pulls one hand over his heart and pretends, well, half pretends that she’s offending him, and she laughs, poking his face.

“You have to think about your own future.”

He messes her hair up with one hand as he gently pulls her off her seat. He’s well aware that she’s completely right, but he doesn’t particularly want to think about his little girl all grown up and moving out.

“Go get changed. We don’t want to be late.”

He watches fondly as she runs off towards her bedroom, her long brown curls flying behind her. How anyone could not love her, he doesn’t know.

He hopes that today will go well.

* * *

 

Melinda’s waiting for them by the ticket vendors at the cinema, and she greets Phil with a quick peck on the cheek because she isn’t sure how appropriate it is to kiss a man while his nine year old is watching.

Skye’s standing right beside them with a blank expression, and Melinda’s a little confused because the girl had been so forward with her when they first met. So she turns her attentions towards, her, and bends down a little, placing her hands onto her knees to brace herself.

“Hey, your dad tells me you’ve been looking forward to this movie for a long time. I hope you don’t mind me crashing your outing.”

She speaks with as much of a smile as she can, because she’s so damn nervous she might even stutter. She can feel Phil right beside them, watching the exchange, and right now, she just wants to close her eyes and find somewhere to hide because Skye is frowning.

She bites the inside of her cheek and and Phil’s hand is how however against her back as they both gauge Skye’s reaction.

“It’s a cartoon. You might not like it. I’m sorry.”

Melinda and Phil exchange a glance and Melinda cautiously reaches out a hand and places it onto Skye’s shoulder; she doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries or make the girl uncomfortable.

“Hey, don’t apologise. I’m sure i’ll enjoy it,” she says, attempting to keep eye contact as she reaches her other hand into her bag, and pulls out a ten dollar bill. “But you know what’ll make any movie even better? Popcorn and candy.”

She offers the money to Skye, and her eyes immediately light up, but she’s evidently reluctant to accept it, until Phil nods and she reaches out a hand and takes the note.

“Thank you, Melinda.”

She’s grinning happily now, and Melinda and Phil share a relieved smile as Skye dashes off towards the concession stands.

“You didn’t have to do that you know. She was just a little upset this morning because she was afraid you wouldn’t like her.”

Phil takes her hand as they follow slowly behind, watching as Skye runs around, trying to figure out which snacks she wants the most.

“She’s wonderful Phil.”

She doesn’t say much more, because there really isn’t any more to add, and he looks so happy as he pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her forehead, just below her hairline. Keeping an eye on Skye, they head over and purchase tickets for the next showing, and by the time they’re done, Skye’s standing beside them with a giant tub of popcorn.

The movie isn’t terrible, and Skye really seems to be enjoying it, happily munching on popcorn and giggling at all the right parts. Melinda tries to concentrate, but Phil’s hand on her thigh tapping out the rhythm of the background music is more than distracting, and she ends up lacing their fingers together to stop him.

When the movie is over, they grab lunch two floors down at taco bell because it’s a weekend and fast food is the way to go. Melinda sits down with Skye as Phil goes to the counter and places their orders, and she listens as Skye rambles on about the movie, and all the characters, and just smiles, because she looks so excited as she speaks.

Phil returns minutes later with a taco and a mini quesadilla for Skye, a salad for Melinda, a burrito for himself and a tray of nachos for them to share. Skye watches with great amusement as Melinda scrapes up the guacamole from her salad with a fork, before unceremoniously dumping it on top of the pile already sitting on the nachos.

“You don’t like avocado?”

“Just a little allergic, I avoid it if I can.”

Skye’s eyes widen as she holds her hand up for what is presumably a hi-five.

“Me too.”

Melinda reaches her hand over with her palm turned upwards and lets Skye slap hers down. Phil watches them with a smile, and Melinda feels a great sense of accomplishment as she withdraws her hand.

After lunch, they explore the shops a little, and Phil is more than delighted as he hands Melinda and Skye each an ice cream cone filled with passion fruit sorbet.

It’s mid autumn and messy, but Melinda shares hers with him as he loops one arm around her waist, the other settles on Skye’s shoulder, and he really wouldn’t mind if every other day were like today.

 


	21. Dance With Me Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hospital event is announced, Phil is both dorky and creepy, and Natasha has terrible timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Dance with Me Tonight by Olly Murs

**Day 123:**

 

_School dances. Well what can I say? I never really_   
_enjoyed those. The pretty dress was nice, the lights,_  
 _the music. The food was absolutely pathetic and people_  
 _kept trying to spike the punch, and couples would be_  
 _making out all over the place. Functions as an adult,_  
 _well, they’re pretty much the same, except that the alcohol_  
 _is usually legal and through an open bar, and there’s far less_  
 _inappropriate grinding on the dance floor. Even so,_  
 _they’re not really fun unless you have someone to go with,_  
 _so if you turn up alone, you better hope that somebody_  
 _comes over and says: “I just want you to dance with me tonight.”_

 

“Alright people. Listen up. Last item on the agenda for this meeting.”

All heads turn and look to Chief Fury, who has now risen from his seat with an eerie grin upon his face.

“As you all know, the annual Shield Memorial fundraising gala is held on the last Sunday of October each year. Stark Industries as usual, is organising the event -” he says, pausing and looking over at Tony before continuing ”- and all surgical department heads are required to attend. Attendings are welcome to come along provided you are not on call. You will be competing with other specialties and for extra funding into research for the following year. We’re surgeons, we need the cash. Don’t disappoint me people. Alright. Dismissed.”

These weekly staff meetings were necessary, but a pain, because there are a million things that are more worthy of their time than sitting around discussing protocols. It doesn’t help that Melinda barely had any sleep between her two shifts, but insomnia once or twice a year is hardly something she worries about.

They all quickly leave the room, heading out into the hall, and Natasha sidles up to Melinda, hooks an arm through hers, and pulls her to a stop.

“We’ve got to make progress on project get Steve and Peggy together,” she whispers conspiratorially to Melinda after everyone else has left.

“Don’t you have a surgery?”

Natasha shakes her head.

“Non-emergent. A couple of transplants came in and Peggy bumped us.”

Melinda can’t remember who Natasha was originally scheduled to operate on, or what procedure was to be performed, but she knows for a fact that cardio cases are usually the most urgent.

“I just remembered that I have a surgery.”

“No you don’t. I checked the OR boards after rounds this morning.”

Melinda sighs, and pinches the ridge of her brow with two fingers. Natasha is not only a demanding person, but also very thorough and skilled with getting what she wants.

“Fine. But you can cover my afternoon rounds as repayment for me having to join in on your ridiculous schemes.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and furrows her brows, tapping one slender finger against her chin in consideration, trying to decide whether or not it’s worth it to have Melinda’s help. On one hand, she’s capable enough to do it on her own, with occasional assistance from Maria, Victoria or Bobbi. On the other hand, she’s well aware that Melinda’s known Peggy forever, especially compared to the rest of them, so she’s definitely of use to her in this situation.

“It’s a deal.”

* * *

 

It’s pretty much hopeless.

There is not one scenario in which any of them can imagine Steve being brave enough to ask Peggy to be his date for the fundraiser. Sure, it’s a work thing, but bringing a date is up to you, and most people do.

Most of the heads and chiefs, not just limited to the surgical department, try and have as many of their attendings and fellows invited to the event as possible. Funding for research is as important as it gets when looking to paving a successful future in medicine.

It becomes a friendly competition between each of the departments and specialties, to try and get as much funding as possible from the sponsors and investors.

Fellows aren’t on the initial guest lists, but Trip has charmed his way into an invite, as Vic’s plus one, because he’s difficult to resist and she was planning on going alone anyway. Melinda’s also pretty sure that Tony’s pulled rank to get anyone supporting plastics an invitation for the evening.

Natasha’s still under the impression that her ongoing plan of ambushing Steve with random girls that share a mutual disinterest will spur Peggy to take action, even after Bobbi tells her again and again how stupid that is.

But she’s undeterred, and Melinda now has a migraine from listening to her ramble on and on about possible dates for Steve.

She’s not sure that Natasha covering her rounds later is worth all of this.

* * *

 

Phil feels a little awkward walking through the hospital carrying a single red rose, but he’s a pretty traditional guy, and it doesn’t feel right asking Melinda to be his date to the annual hospital fundraiser without first presenting her a flower as a token of his affection.

He may or may not have pulled it from a bunch at the hospital gift shop, because he doesn’t have time to run out and buy one, but it’s the thought that counts.

When he arrives at her office, he gently knocks on the door several times. After not receiving a response, he quietly slides it open, as to not startle her had she not heard him.

The lights are switched off, but it’s still daytime, and the blinds don’t block all the sun, so he can see that she’s not at her desk, and he’s about to turn back and try to look for her elsewhere when he spots her curled up in a foetal position on one end of the couch. He closes the door behind him as soundlessly as possible and makes his way over to her.

She’s as silent sleeping, as she is when she’s awake; her expression peaceful, her long dark hair splayed out around her, and it’s calming just watching her breathe in and out. He twirls the rose around between his fingers as he presses his other hand down on the coffee table behind him, making sure that it is sturdy enough to hold his weight, before sitting down opposite her sleeping form.

He still has trouble believing that the beautiful woman lying before him is his girlfriend, as if someone as amazing as she would date someone like him, a man nearly a decade older than her, not to mention a single father.

“I take back what I said the other night. You are more than a little creepy.”

And of course, she’s not only beautiful, but intelligent and witty too; more than anything he could have dreamed of.

He turns away embarrassed at being caught watching her again, and he can hear her rising into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

She laughs, and the sound is delightful.

“Yeah. But I’d much rather be awake when you’re around.”

“To stop me from creepily watching you sleep?”

“Because reality is so much better than dreaming.”

Her words make his heart skip a beat, and yes, that is entirely possible, and he quickly holds up the flower for her, because now is a better moment than ever.

“Phil.”

She says his name with much tenderness, it makes his insides feel a little funny, but he’s sure it’s nothing to worry about, medically anyway.

“I wondered if you might like to be my date to the fundraiser?”

“You do know I’m already going to be there right?”

He nods quickly, and he feels a little awkward now.

“I just thought, that maybe…” he says, letting his words trail off, because he’s quite aware of how silly he might sound at this moment.

“Phil.”

She reaches out a hand, placing it gently over his, which are clasped tightly together, whilst the other quickly sets the rose down onto the table beside him.

“You. You’re my boyfriend. Who else am I going to show up with?”

He knows the extent of their relationship status, but it feels so damn good to hear her calling him her boyfriend, because it kind of cements however she feels towards him.

He smiles, and her hand leaves his, fingers dancing across his chest, moving upwards towards his neck and shoulders. She grabs the collar of his labcoat tightly, almost yanking his entire body towards her and forcing him down onto the couch beside her.

He’s shocked, a little surprised and startled by her actions, but he can’t bring himself to care because within seconds, she’s leaning over and capturing his lips with hers, one hand pressing firmly into his shoulder, the other cupping his face.

He turns his upper body so his arms can snake their way around her waist, and she presses herself closer to him as he tightens his hold on her. Her tongue prods the seam of his lips and he opens his mouth to her, and it’s wonderful; because he’s at a loss for words and that’s the first one that comes up as he imagines how he would describe this situation.

She nibbles on his bottom lip and laces her arms around his neck, and he lets out an involuntary groan as she clambers onto his lap, her legs straddling either side of his. He hasn’t been this intimate with a woman in quite some time; his previous girlfriends lasted barely weeks, thanks to both Skye and incompatibility.

He mentally reprimands himself for thinking about other women whilst Melinda, beautiful, kind, and also extremely attractive in this exact moment, not that she isn’t usually, is hovering above him, running her fingers roughly through his hair, demanding his attention. He pulls away from her lips, albeit reluctantly, and buries his face against her shoulder, nibbling at the soft skin in the juncture of her neck, drawing out a quiet moan from her.

She reclaims his lips after he manages to suck several bruises into her skin, and his fingers begin to trail up and down her back, slowly creeping beneath her scrub shirt, rucking it up slightly and running across the bare skin on her back. She fists her hands into his coat, and he really doesn’t know how far they might get, on her couch, in her office, and he doesn’t get to find out, because seconds later, the door to Melinda’s office slams open, and the lights flick on.

Melinda manages to pull away, but she’s still in his lap, his hands up the back of her shirt, both their hair tousled, lips swollen and breathing heavily.

“Oops. So sorry. I’ll come back later.”

Natasha is laughing as she closes the door once more, evidently not apologetic at all for walking in on and interrupting her friends.

Melinda muffles a giggle against Phil’s shoulder, and shifts so she’s sitting sideways in his lap, leaning into him. He buries one hand in her hair and softly strokes her back, over her shirt this time, and she slowly dozes off against him. He soon loses feeling in both his legs, but he has no desire to move from where he is.

 


	22. So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip brings the funk to work and decorates for Halloween, the hospital gala is a success and Phil and Melinda do the deed. Bang. You know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : So Close by Jon McLaughlin

**Day 133:**

 

_Proximity. Mentally or Physically, just like everything else_   
_in life. When you allow yourself to be close to something,_   
_a situation, or someone, someone you care for, you will_   
_begin opening up; and there will be no more hiding. It’s_   
_a little like an exchange of sorts. But it’s worth it, to be_   
_so close. It’s something you won’t want to walk away from._

 

When Melinda and Natasha stop off at the attending’s lounge after morning rounds, they are met with a sight that one usually wouldn’t see at a staff lounge in a hospital.

Trip is standing on a step ladder, being supported by the trauma fellow, Sam. He’s stringing up orange, black and purple streamers, and there are already plastic stick-ons of pumpkins, witches, ghosts and fake blood all over the walls and furniture. Every corner, nook and cranny has been covered in fake cobwebs, and there are several plastic jack o lanterns sitting on the coffee table and dining table.

“Impressive.”

Natasha’s wandering around, inspecting their handiwork, as Melinda continues standing in the doorway observing with a slightly raised brow.

Trip notices her expression as he descends from the ladder after securing the streamers with several pieces of tape.

“I bring the noise and funk wherever I go.”

He grins when she rolls her eyes, and claps his hands together, giving the room a quick look over. The decorations are a little extreme, and she’s not sure how much some of the other attendings will take to the plastic spiders sitting in the fake cobwebs, but there’s less than a week till halloween and to some, it’s a sacred holiday.

“You ladies headed off now?”

Natasha nods as she heads back towards Melinda, who hasn’t moved an inch from her position, leaning against the doorway.

“Gotta make ourselves look pretty so we’ll crush Pediatrics tonight.”

“Sick babies. Very sick tiny humans. None of those ladies with fat wallets will be able to resist.”

Natasha pokes her tongue out at Trip, it’s childish and immature, but it’s really the only response she can come up with. Grabbing Melinda’s elbow with one hand, she exits the room, pulling her friend out with her.

“We’ll see you tonight, boys.”

They’re headed home now, after a night shift, and Melinda is hoping to get some sleep before she has to get ready for the fundraiser. Natasha had forced them all to go dress shopping with her a couple of days ago, so they could look their best and beat the boys, which really doesn’t work for the female attendings in other specialities, because they have males in their departments.

“Did you end up finding Steve a date for tonight?”

Natasha grins, and Melinda is well acquainted with this particular expression; it’s triumphant, like she’s succeeded at something, and Melinda can only feel sorry for whatever Steve and Peggy are about to go through.

It might make for an interesting evening though.

* * *

 

Pepper, who is most likely the one behind the entire fundraiser, really goes all out for these functions. It’s a private venue, presumably one owned by Stark Industries or Tony himself, and fancy doesn’t even begin to describe it.

There’s a buffet and open bar; dozens of waiters and waitresses walking around with trays full of champagne glasses and canapes. The room is full of rich men in tuxedos and equally wealthy women in designer gowns, with enough diamonds around their necks and fingers to feed the entire country for a year.

Doctors are punctual people in general, surgeons in particular, so everyone arrives early, and there aren’t really any latecomers.

Phil feels like the luckiest man in the world when he enters with Melinda on his arm; she’s dressed in a gown that flows like molten silver, her dark hair free and framing her face, her lips painted a shade of red that reminds him of fresh blood, which in all honesty is probably a terrible comparison, but it is what it is.

She detaches herself from his side moments after they arrive; he knows how this night works. Funding is vital, and some of the wealthiest people in the capital are in attendance tonight. He adjusts his light grey tie and accepts a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by, and begins wandering around, searching for a potential patron to charm.

Trip is entertaining a large crowd of older women, who are all cheering him on as he juggles a couple of oranges that he likely pilfered from the back kitchens. Maria is doing shots at the bar with a couple of men, and everyone knows that play; she’s going to get them so drunk, they’ll keep adding zeroes on the cheques they write for her.

Bobbi is relaxed as she converses with a few gentleman herself, presumably because Lance is on call at the hospital, and not here to annoy the crap out of her. She’s not as forceful in her techniques as Maria evidently is, and it is unlikely Neuro will win the most funding, because both her and Bruce are calm in their approaches, and that just isn’t going to cut it in a situation like this.

Tony isn’t even trying, because he has access to all the private funding he could possibly need as a major shareholder at Stark Industries. All the other plastics supporters are hustling around trying to coerce hundreds of thousands of dollars out of donors, but he’s sitting back in his blinged up suit, knocking back glass after glass of fine wine.  

Thor is having great success with the young heiresses, who are asking him again and again to flex his muscles, and swooning as he does. Clint is just a couple of metres away, playing the sweet and sensitive card, telling the ladies about how it is to work as an ENT, and that it’s personal for him, and he doesn’t even have to elaborate on the matter before they’re pulling out their cheque books.

Steve has a girl on his arm, a perky brunette who he introduces as Angie, and no one misses the confused glares the pair receive from Peggy, who isolates herself in a corner with a bottle of vodka.

Everyone has their own methods of approach in convincing rich people to fork out bundles of cash, and no one is quite sure what Natasha whispers in the ears of the men she dances with, but the millions of dollars that are donated to cardio from her efforts alone are more than enough to prove whatever it is she says, works.

Phil likes to bring his own personal experiences into play, and tells stories of the poor children he treats each day, those that can’t afford surgery, and all the mothers in attendance donate more than enthusiastically. He’s thanking an older couple for their generous contribution to pediatrics when he spots Melinda for the first time since they parted.

A crowd of men of all ages are gathered around her, enamoured as she speaks about her career and goals, and how passionate she is about saving lives. She’s smiling widely, as she walks around her group of admirers, placing her hand over their hearts, explaining how important it is as an organ. She laughs and thanks each of them as they fill out cheques for her, handing them over with their phone numbers, and Phil is amazed by her methods.

She doesn’t catch him watching as she heads over to the bar to grab a drink, but he’s thoroughly distracted now. He’s already reeled in enough donations for the night, and Trip seems to be doing quite well, so he begins making his way over to her. But he’s evidently not the only one who has been ensnared by Melinda’s charm because by the time he’s within hearing distance, there’s a man beside her trying to sling his arm over her shoulders.

“Come on darlin’, I can show you a good time.”

Melinda shirks away from him again, leaving her drink sitting on the counter; he’s insistent as he takes a step closer and reaches for her.

“If you want to keep that hand, and I’m guessing that you do, because it would be a shame for you to lose your only sexual companion, then you best leave me alone.”

“Feisty. I like that in a woman.”

She glares at him and takes another step back, and Phil can’t stand here and watch this any longer. He knows that Melinda isn’t the kind of girl that needs defending, but it’s apparent she is very uncomfortable, and he’s willing to risk her wrath if it means getting her out of this situation.

“Garrett.”

John turns and eyes him with a sinister smile, and Phil’s reminded once again of their days as residents together when he’d mercilessly mock and prank him for no good reason.

“Coulson.”

Phil walks up to them and is relieved because Melinda doesn’t appear annoyed at all that he’s interrupted Garrett’s advances. He smirks triumphantly, internally, well maybe a little externally too, as he wraps an arm around Melinda’s waist, pulling her softly to his side, because he’s not sure he’s ever seen Garrett so shocked in the years they’ve known one another.

The smirk becomes a full blown grin as Garrett grabs a shot from the bar, downing it one go, and muttering what sounds a lot like fucking hell as he leaves to find someone else to disgust.

“Ass.”

Phil smiles as Melinda wraps her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder. They don’t stay in that position for very long, because she prods him in the chest and reminds him that she and the rest of the cardio attendings have probably crushed the donation records, and they’re off to participate in this friendly competition once again.

At the end of the fundraiser, cardio does indeed end up with the most donations from the patrons, and on their way out to his car, Melinda stops him and whispers something about _celebrating_ into his ear

* * *

 

They manage to stay civil, calm and collected on their way back to her apartment, but the second the door is closed and locked behind them, she wraps her fingers tightly around his tie and uses it to blindly pull him to her bedroom.

The lights turn on as their clothes fly off - well his do anyway. She’s walking around the room still clad in her bra and panties, and he’s sitting pretty much nude on her covers, watching cautiously as she rummages the drawers for something.

He raises a brow when she walks back over to him with a condom between her fingers.

“I thought you were on the pill.”

She shrugs as she pushes him down into a lying position and crawls over him.

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

She doesn’t say any more, and he doesn’t ask, and she’s glad for that, because her answer would most definitely put a damper on the evening ahead.

* * *

 

They’re entwined beneath crumpled sheets, and Melinda is definitely paying to replace any furniture that has been defiled by their activities when she moves out in the future.

“Sorry. It’s been a while,” Phil says as he presses another kiss to her temple, and she just sighs in content as she snuggles closer to him, running a hand over his chest.

“Me too.”

Phil has his arms around her and she rests her head above his heart, listening to the steady, rhythmic beating. It’s the first time she’s allowed anyone to hold her this close, this intimately. It’s the first time she’s been with someone she cares about, and it’s an amazing feeling.

To be so close; it’s something she never realised that she needed until now.

 


	23. I'm Gonna Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gathers his minions to pull pranks, Natasha moves onto another plan with great success and Phil, Melinda and Skye spend Halloween evening together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : I'm Gonna Be (Cover) by Sleeping At Last

**Day 138:**

 

_Sometimes, we forget that it’s the little things in life that matter._   
_There’s death and destruction, those we can’t save, it’s a constant,_   
_it’s happening at every moment, but you can’t dwell on that._   
_You have to live for the present, and enjoy those little moments_   
_of happiness, of calm and tranquility. Dreaming about the future_   
_is nice, it’s a little magical, but you can’t walk through life saying:_   
_I’m gonna be a hero, the president, a teacher._   
_You control your own future, by changing your present._

 

“Why did we have to do this in my office?” Melinda asks, as Clint enters the room with another box of ‘supplies’.

“Because the rest of us don’t have offices-,” Maria responds, beginning to rifle through the contents of another storage container “- and, even if it’s traced back to you, no one will actually believe it.”

Melinda rolls her eyes, but she heads out from behind her desk to help anyway. After Mack enters with another large container, this ones notably heavier than the rest, Melinda shuts the door, making sure to lock it, and draw all the curtains so no one on the outside would be able to see whatever they are up to within.

Mack sets the box down in front of Clint, and when Maria moves to open it, he sends her a warning glance and mouths ‘no’ so that Clint can’t see it, and both Maria and Melinda edge away a little.

“Where’d you get this one from? I thought I’d cleared out the supply room,” Clint says, looking up at Mack as he speaks, whilst simultaneously pulling the lid off the container.

Mack just shrugs, an attempt to appear innocent as Clint finally gets the lid off, setting it down on to the ground beside them. Whatever is inside is covered in black fabric, and as he reaches in to remove it, the contents start to move, rising up and up, and then jumping out at him.

Though he will later vehemently deny the high pitched scream that tore through the room came from him, he leaps back, bumping his head against the edge of the coffee table as the black thing lands in his lap.

The weight is familiar, and before he even begins to pull away at the fabric, he already knows what, or who, specifically pulled this vicious prank on him. He pushes back the cowl of the cloak, and sure enough it’s Natasha’s face smiling right back at him.

“Boo.”

Clint groans, rubbing the back of his head at the spot where it had made contact with the edge of the table, and everyone else in the room just laughs at his expense.

“When I said we should get together and play pranks on people, I didn’t mean you could test them out on me first.”

Natasha looks extremely pleased with her handiwork, until he rubs the back of his head again, wincing at the bump that is sure to form later on. She strokes his cheek and leans in to whisper to him, so that their companions can’t hear.

“Poor baby. I’ll kiss it better later, okay?”

Their friends watch them curiously, and he quickly nods at her words, drawing out a smirk from her as she finally rises from her position.

“Pretty sure I can fit into the intern’s lockers. Give them a fright when they go looking for their lunch.”

Melinda raises an eyebrow at Natasha.

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? You could get stuck in there for hours if no one comes by.”

“You’re such a buzz kill.”

“Clint’s the one that wanted me for risk assessment. You know, so you don’t kill any patients with your pranks.”

Natasha lets out a huff and pouts, crossing her arms as she unceremoniously drops down onto Melinda’s office couch.

“I thought Maria was in charge, she’s the one that asked me to join,” Mack supplies as he grabs a pocket knife and opens another taped cardboard box.

“We needed someone to do the heavy lifting.”

Clint pretends to be offended by Maria’s statement, while the rest of his friends just laugh.

“What am I? Chopped liver?”

* * *

 

Steve is minding his own business as usual, making sure that the ER is running smoothly, that his patients are being taken care of and that everyone is happy.

He doesn’t like shenanigans, and he’s most definitely not looking forward to whatever pranks Clint has in store for the interns this year. Last halloween they had attached bags to the ceilings that dripped fake blood onto anyone that passed. Steve himself had been a victim of that particular joke and the stuff had been surprisingly difficult to wash out from his hair.

“Dr. Captain Rogers. Dr Carter is paging you up to her office, says it’s important.”

Steve motions for his left hand man, Sam, to take over as he hurries upstairs to Peggy’s office, not bothering to use the elevators and taking the stairs two at a time. He can see that her door is open from the end of the hallway, and normally he would stop and knock, but this seems to some sort of emergent summons, so there’s no time for that.

Peggy’s sitting at her desk signing forms, and he’s really not sure what he expected to find, but she looks up at him, and appears surprised to see him.

“Steve? What is it?”

He’s about to respond when the door to her office is suddenly pulled shut, and the internal lock slides into place with a loud click. He immediately rushes over and tries to disengage it, pulling on the handle, but it doesn’t budge and in seconds Peggy is by his side, nimble fingers trying the lock herself.

They share a look, an unspoken question hanging in their air between them, and Steve brings a fist to the door pounding against it.

“Clint! Is this your idea of a prank?”

A familiar laugh rings out.

Natasha.

“I’m giving you two a chance to talk things out; Sam and the Chief are covering for you. Mack bolted the door from the outside and I have the only key. Call me when you’ve patched things up and I’ll let you out.”

And with that she’s gone, or at least that’s all they can tell from within. Peggy’s office is one with normal walls instead of glass, but even with Steve knocking loudly against the door, there’s no response.

He gives up after a few moments, and turns to Peggy, who is standing beside him, fists clenched and stance tense.

“Natasha said we needed to patch things up. Did I do something wrong?”

She looks up at him in exasperation, narrowing her eyes, and he’s not particularly skilled with women, but she’s angry. And as he thinks about it a little more carefully, she’s been acting strangely around him for quite some time now.

“I can’t even go to my favourite diner anymore because of you.”

Ahh. Yes. He’d taken Peggy’s waitress friend as his date to the fundraiser last week, but she had been nothing but nice, and they shared a mutual disinterest in one another. Natasha had insisted he shouldn’t show up alone. Why would Peggy be upset about that?

Unless.

No.

There is no version of reality where a woman like Peggy could possibly be interested in a guy like him. And they’ve been friends for years; if she felt anything besides friendship for him, she would have said so. Right?

But then again, he hadn’t said anything to her, but she’s confident, much more so than he. He’s evidently a little too consumed by his thoughts, because Peggy’s still standing in front of him when he snaps back to present, and she appears visibly more upset than before,

They’re locked up together in her office, and he’s having an epiphany, sort of, thanks to Natasha, and now may as well be a good time as ever to say something. It couldn’t get any worse right?

“I wanted to go with my best gal, but I was afraid she’d turn me down, so I didn’t ask.”

Her eyes widen as she looks up at him, and gingerly reaches out a hand so it lays flat against his chest.

“The bar across the street. Next Saturday at eight.”

And then she’s reaching into her pocket for her phone to call Natasha, which is a good idea, because his heart might just need restarting.

Their friend is not entirely cruel, because when the door unlocks, the hallway outside is pretty much empty. Steve leaves the room the biggest grin on his face, and pauses briefly when he hears her call out one last thing to him.

“Don’t you dare be late.”

* * *

 

Melinda opens her front door with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in one hand. It takes great control to resist from laughing at the sight that awaits her.

Phil’s dressed in a tattered shirt and pants, paler than usual thanks to a dusting of white powder all over his body and fake stitches drawn onto his skin with a black sharpie. A metal bolt is attached to either side of his head, and he looks more than a little uncomfortable at his appearance.

Skye’s beside him, in her own set of miniature scrubs and doctor’s coat and she’s beaming up at Melinda, poking her father in the side, and telling him to show her how much candy they have managed to collect.

Melinda smiles as she ushers them inside, stopping Phil with one hand over his mouth as he tries to lean in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“You mister, can go take a shower and wash that stuff off.”

Phil grumbles, staying very much in character as he fishes out a change of clothes for Skye, and Melinda busies herself with setting up the movie whilst the pair head off and change out of their costumes.

The popcorn sits in the centre of the table, next to a portion of candy she has left over from the trick or treaters; she’d needed much more of the stuff back in LA. She also fishes out three glasses and fills them with pink soda, setting them down on coasters, because it would likely give Phil an aneurysm if he were to walk out and see that she hadn’t used them.

Skye comes skipping back out into the living room moments later, costume carefully folded in her arms. She stows it away in her backpack before she turns to Melinda with her hands behind her back, clearly a little shy due to the unfamiliar surroundings.

Melinda sits down on the couch and pats the spot beside her, prompting Skye to come over.

“So who decided on Dr. Frankenstein and his monster?” she asks, handing the bowl of candy over to Skye and letting her have free reign over it.

She selects one piece before carefully setting the bowl back down onto the table, and thanking Melinda profusely.

“I did. Dad picked last year, and we went as Captain America and the Winter Soldier. I had a metal arm and everything.”

Melinda laughs and nods along as Skye proceeds to spill plenty of embarrassing stories about her father, some worse than others, and they’re both in hysterics by the time Phil returns in a t-shirt and jeans, freshly showered.

They refuse to reveal what they’ve been conversing about, and before he can press them for more information, Melinda switches the lights off and the television on, selecting a scary movie to suit the holiday.

She’s a little weary that Skye might be afraid of horror movies, but thirty minutes in when the chainsaw wielding maniac is running through the darkened mansion, and a blood curling scream echoes out from the screen, it is Skye who is holding the bowl of popcorn in her lap, watching intently.

Phil on the other hand, has his face buried against Melinda’s neck, her hair obstructing his view of the television. She can feel his breath against her neck, coming out in little puffs of hot air, and his arms are wound tightly around her, as if he is afraid that she’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Dad, you’re such a wimp.”

Skye’s turned her attention away from the screen for a brief moment and is regarding Melinda and Phil with great amusement. He groans and pretends not to hear her as he shuffles a little closer to Melinda, leaning against her.

“If you keep acting like a little girl, she’s going to dump you.”

Melinda laughs this time, and Phil pulls away with a loud sigh. Skye’s already refocused on the movie, and he can’t quite understand how she and Melinda can have no problem watching scary movies. He’s a surgeon, so it’s not the blood and gore that deters him; he can’t quite pinpoint what exactly it is that he’s afraid of.

He still refuses to watch the screen, and turns back to Melinda who is watching him with some form of bemusement across her features. She opens her arms to him, and when he’s settled by her side again, she gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, running her hands soothingly over his arms and shoulders.

“You are a wimp. But I think it’s cute.”

He doesn’t know whether her words make him feel happier or sadder. But it doesn’t matter because seconds later, another shriek from the screen has him jumping nearly half a foot in the air and Melinda and Skye both laugh at him, but they also tell him it’s alright to be afraid and that they’ll take care of the monsters.

He’s glad he’s got his girls to protect him.

 


	24. Somewhere Only We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is a dork, as usual, and Steve gets into a little accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Somewhere Only We Know by Keane

**Day 146:**

 

_Your relationship with each person is tailored to the individual._   
_It’s unique and different and that’s a good thing._   
_Sure, there’ll be similarities, like everything else in the world,_   
_but the differences are enough to counter that. Your relationship_   
_with your best friend is special, you may have chosen one another,_   
_you may have not, but you’re closer than others can even imagine._   
_You can sit together and reminisce, think back to the past,_   
_far off memories; “Somewhere only we know.”_

 

When Phil walks in to the hospital for his morning shift, he is regarded with curious and amused glances by almost everyone he passes. He’s not completely sure what he’s done to warrant these looks, until he reaches the nurses station on the third floor and Natasha is sitting behind the desk with a great big smirk.

“Wow, three times this week. Do you have something to apologise for?”

He ignores Natasha’s friendly jibe; because this is not a conversation he wants to have with her. Or anybody else really.

“Have you seen Melinda?”

Natasha raises her brows suggestively, and he realises that she’s obviously the one who taught Skye to do that. Maybe he let his daughter hang around at the hospital a little too often.

“She passed by a minute ago; headed to the OR board.”

“Thank you.”

As he takes a right and heads down the hallway he can hear Natasha shoot out one final statement meant to tease him.

“You know, if she’s withholding sex, flowers aren’t going to do anything.”

That statement is followed by a loud laugh, and Phil quickens his pace to get out of hearing range. He turns another corner, and sure enough, Melinda is there, whiteboard marker in hand as she writes up a surgery for later on in the morning. She’s looking in the opposite direction, and doesn’t notice as he quietly makes his way over behind her.

She tenses, just for a moment, when one of his arms wrap around her waist, but she recognises his touch and quickly relaxes, her back leaning against his chest. He curves his other arm around and holds the flowers out in front of her.

“Phil.”

She caps the marker in her hand and places it back onto the ledge of the whiteboard; taking the bouquet of lilies from him in both hands, before turning around to face him.

“You brought me flowers. Again?”

She looks up at him while he nods, and shakes her head with a smile.

“Is this because your daughter is convinced I’m going to dump you for a younger man?”

Melinda looks thoroughly amused as Phil tries to respond to her question, and takes his hand, leading him upstairs to her office as he babbles, almost incoherently. He’s said all he can think of saying by the time she has him seated on the couch opposite her desk; she’s placing the bouquet into a vase she stole from Peggy’s furniture collection, throwing out the wilted flowers from Tuesday.

“I’m not, you know,” she says as she joins him, sitting down beside him and leaning into his embrace as his arms go around her, almost automatically. “If anything, you’ll realise what a terrible girlfriend I am and break up with me.”

Her tone is light, and she smiles as she speaks, leaning her head back against his shoulder to look up at him, but he frowns at her words, pursing his lips. He pulls away, propping one arm against the couch and turning to face her, causing her to straighten up as well.

“Hey. Don’t say that.”

He cups her cheek with one hand, trailing his fingers over the side of her jaw and she closes her eyes as he moves down her neck, pressing softly into a fading bruise.

“You’re beautiful, and smart, and way too good for me,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then another to the tip of her nose.

She blushes under his attentions, and moves closer to him, pressing her lips to his for a moment before pulling away.

“You’re sweet.”

He reaches over and laces their fingers together, bringing their joined hands up between them.

“I need a cardio consult later on today. You free?”

* * *

 

Jogging.

It’s one of Steve’s favourite forms of exercise, not to say that he doesn’t also frequent the gym that his female friends and co-workers train at. He has a platinum membership after all.

But nothing is more stress relieving that going for a long run, out in the nature, fresh air all around; well as natural and fresh as a park in the middle of the city can be.

He’s wearing only a t-shirt and shorts with his running shoes, even though it’s the beginning of November and it’s noticeably colder outside. There probably won’t be any snow until closer to Christmas, but the ponds will start to ice up before then.

After four laps he decides to call it a day; it’s nearly six in the evening and he has to go home and get ready for his thing with Peggy. He wants to call it a date, but he really isn’t sure what it is.

He’s turning out of the park, ready to walk the five blocks back to his apartment when he sees the little girl standing in front of a large tree by the sidewalk.

“Please, can someone help me?!”

There are tears streaming down her face as she yells, her father’s hand on her shoulder doing nothing to calm her down. Steve does a quick scan of the area as he approaches, and finds the cause of her crying.

There’s a cat, a big fat hairy white cat, sitting on one of the branches.

Without a moments hesitation, Steve rushes over and begins climbing up the tree with ease, his sneakers providing a good grip against the rough bark of the trunk. He can feel a couple of slivers of wood becoming splinters in his palms, but he can remove those with a tweezer later, so it’s not a great concern.

He reaches the white hair ball quickly enough, swinging himself gently up onto a larger branch, feeling it sag under his weight. Slowly, he inches closer to the animal, careful not to spook it. He grins triumphantly when he manages to grab onto the cat with one hand and begins to edge back towards the trunk.

All in a good days work.

Or so he thinks.

As he prepares to begin his descent, the world obviously has other ideas in store for him, because the cat suddenly shifts in his arms and claws out at him. He loses his footing and the cat makes a leap for it, landing several metres away in the mulch on all fours, seemingly unharmed.

Steve however, is not so lucky. His free arm reaches up to try and grab a hold of a branch to steady himself, but he misses and comes crashing to the ground. This all happens in the space of five seconds, and the next thing he knows he’s lying sprawled out, his upper body on the dirt and mud, his legs extending onto the concrete pavement.

The little girl is standing over him with the white demon beast in her arms, and her father is on the phone. He’s dazed, but from what he can make out, the man has called him an ambulance, which is really unnecessary.

He tries to rise, which is an idiotic move on his part, because there’s a little old lady crouching over him, holding him down.

“Now sonny, don’t want to hurt your head anymore.”

Her entire knitting club is there too, all peering down at him.

“Ma’am. With all due respect, I’m a doctor.”

That draws laughter from the entire crowd that has gathered around him.

“Poor boy must have knocked his head even harder than we thought.”

“A doctor? Please.”

“Who would be stupid enough to climb a tree?”

The crowd only grows, and the sound of sirens nearing only attracts an even larger audience, despite the cat girl’s father trying his best to disperse them. Even the sun setting and darkness spreading doesn’t do much to hinder the interest of the park’s occupants.

The flashing blue and red lights from the top of the ambulance illuminate the scene, and Steve is already embarrassed at the thought of being brought in to the ER, especially when his co-workers learn the reason for him being there.

Someone really has it in for him today.

“Steve?!”

Of course it had to be Bucky’s ambulance that is dispatched to fetch him.

Just his luck.

“Dr. Captain Rogers?!”

The two paramedics staffing Bucky’s ambulance are at his side, checking his pupils and prodding around before having him lifted onto the stretcher. The little old ladies watch with great surprise as they address him with Natasha’s irritating nickname, and he manages a small smirk as he is being carted off into the ambulance.

* * *

 

Peggy is racing into the ER, and the heels on her feet aren’t making it any easier, nor is the tight red velvet dress which is at the moment, making it quite difficult to breathe.

She doesn’t even have to pose the question when she enters, because everyone is trying to give her the answer at the same time.

Natasha had called her minutes earlier, saying that there had been an accident, and that Steve had been brought in to the ER.

Needless to say, she arrives in a record time and follows the directions of every nurse and intern in the room, until she finds herself standing in front of a private patient room.

“He’s a little concussed, we’re keeping him overnight for observations.”

Bobbi’s words almost don’t register in her mind as she turns the handle on the door and walks slowly into the room.

Steve is lying in the hospital bed, a thick white bandage wrapped around his head, and an IV attached to his arm. He looks apologetic as she enters, and he reaches for as she nears his bedside.

“I’m sorry Peggy.”

She hushes him as she takes his hand, eyes scanning over all the machines he is currently hooked up to. She’s sure his injuries aren’t serious enough to warrant all the monitoring, but no doubt the rest of the staff had insisted just to make sure he was okay.

As she runs a thumb over his cheekbone, she’s reminded of when they first met, not in a situation unlike this one. Except for the fact they were on foreign soil in the middle of a shoot out, and that she had plied two bullets from his chest.

Over ten years ago.

They were younger then, with so much to explore, so much to experience. They share memories that belong to only the two of them, some good, some bad, some horrific, but still theirs.

She leans over and places a chaste kiss to his lips, pulling back after just a moment.

“One kiss, at the end of our first date.”

He’s a little upset that she’s counting this as their first date - because him falling out of a tree and her visiting him in hospital isn’t exactly spectacular, or vaguely romantic. But she’s sitting down beside him now, taking one of his hands in both of hers, and smiling, and hey, maybe it’s not so bad.

He’ll try to make the second one better though.

 

 


	25. Let Her Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Melinda have a major disagreement, professionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Let Her Go by Passenger

**Day 152:**

 

_Sometimes, many times throughout your life in fact,_  
 _you may find yourself holding things back, holding them_  
 _in, and as far as I’m aware, that just leads to either an explosion,_  
 _where you let everything bottled up out at once, or an implosion,_  
 _when it all caves in on you, and honestly, I can’t say which is worse._  
 _If you just let it out from time to time, it’s not any issue anymore._  
 _Let it out, Let it go, Let him go, Let her go_

 

“Hey Akela. How are you feeling?”

Phil grins as he enters the room of one of his long time patients. She’s sitting propped up against several pillows and greets him with a wide smile.

“Dr. Coulson! It’s nice to be just me again,” she says with a small laugh.

He picks up the chart from the end of her bed and cheks over her vitals before taking a seat at her bedside.

“You’re looking better. Improved heart function. Looks like you might be up and running in no time.”

Truth be told, he hasn’t seen her this happy or relaxed for quite a while now. Her ongoing medical conditions had her in the hospital more often than not, which didn’t help her social interactions with other students at school.

“I’m feeling better. Dr. May must have fixed my heart up real good.”

He regards her with a smile, and now that the formalities are done, he broaches the real question he’s wanted to ask since her operation two days ago.

“Have you gone down to the nursery to see the baby yet?”

He feels relieved as she nods with a grin.

“He’s a real cutie.”

Those words send relief through him, but that relief only lasts a moment.

“But I’ve made a decision. I want to give him up for adoption.”

It takes all that he has to keep the smile on his face from falling, and the frown from forming.

“I thought you had made the decision to keep the baby.”

When she had come to him for advice as her doctor the day she found out she was expecting, he’d provided her all the support he could. Once he was sure she didn’t want to take the route of abortion, he’d talked to both her and her parents at length, discussing the best options, and they had informed him of their plans to assist their daughter in raising the child.

“I’ve been thinking about it these last few months, but I‘ve only just made up my mind about giving him away.”

He nods again, and takes a breath, keeping up the role of supportive doctor. It isn’t his place to influence her decision, and he respects her choices, whether or not he agrees with them or not.

“What changed your mind?”

He had been so sure she would keep the child; he hadn’t swayed her one way or the other, and he wanted only what was best for his patients, but she had been the one who was insistent on raising her kid before. He can’t be sure how her views and opinions have changed so quickly.

“Dr. May actually. She came in yesterday and we talked-”

He can hear her chattering away in the background, but his mind isn’t processing the words any longer.

* * *

 

Melinda is heading down the hallway to her office, half of an over-refrigerated sandwich in one hand, a small stack of files in the other. Another boring but tedious lunch time ahead of her.

When she enters the room, closing the door behind her and switching on the lights, she finds Phil sitting on her couch. She dumps the impending paperwork and her half frozen lunch onto her desk before dropping down beside him and pressing a kiss to his cheek with a smile.

He’s not smiling back however.

His fists are clenched, and his shoulders are tense and he looks angry. More so than he did the day they met.

“What’s wrong?”

He gives her an incredulous look, and his expression spells something akin to “are you seriously asking me that?”

“What in the world possessed you to tell my fifteen year old patient that she should go and give her baby up for adoption?”

She freezes at his question; of all the things she is imagining that he can possibly be angry at her for, this is not one of them.

“I talked to her about her options yesterday. I merely suggested that she should put that option under consideration.”

This clearly isn’t the answer he is looking for.

“Did you think that in all the time I’ve been treating her that option didn’t come up? She decided to keep that baby and now because of you, she’s giving him away.”

His volume has risen and she knows that anyone passing by outside is sure to hear them within.

“I didn’t tell her that she should give the child up. But adoption is a path that might benefit both her and the child.”

She keeps her own voice level, because he’s angry, almost irrationally, and she can’t figure out why.

“What gives you the right to pressure a young girl to abandon her own son?”

“And what gives you the right to influence her to keep it?”

He’s turned away from her now, he can’t even bear to look at her as they speak. Right now, they’re not a couple arguing; they’re two colleagues debating over a patient, albeit a little louder than necessary.

When he doesn’t respond, she continues.

“You said it yourself, she’s a young girl. And she’s battling a life-long heart disease. How can anyone expect her to raise a child. She’s still a kid herself. A sick one.”

Melinda gingerly reaches out a hand, placing it onto Phil’s thigh, almost exhaling in relief when he doesn’t push her away.

“She has a future ahead of her, and keeping that child will mean throwing it all away. If she gives him up into a nice family who loves him, they’ll both have a chance to live a happy life.”

She’s being as rational as she possibly can, and trying to process why Phil is so upset and worked up over this. His reaction makes it seem as though it’s almost personal, and if it indeed is, it isn’t her place to ask him. Even if she were to, she can’t imagine that he will spill all his secrets, just as if their roles were reversed and he asked about her past.

They’re together, and she’s never been happier. She doesn’t want to ruin it by digging up painful memories for either of them.

But then he’s turning back to face her and his eyes are red, cheeks pink and wet, expression distraught. He reaches for her and the next thing she knows his tears are staining her scrub shirt as his body heaves against hers with every breath.

Her own breaths are shallow as she holds him, unsure of what to say, how to react to his current state. She runs her hands over his back, trying to soothe him as she presses kisses to the top of his head, quietly whispering to him that it’s alright, that she’s here, but not that she’s sorry, because she isn’t apologetic for her words, because she isn’t wrong.

He slowly calms down, his tremors disappearing beneath her fingers, and she removes her hands from his back, moving them to his face as she lifts his head back up, fervently rubbing away at the tear stains.

“Phil. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to alright? Just let me know that you’re okay.”

He nods shakily, covering her hands with his and drawing them away from his face  and down onto her lap.

“The first time...the first time I held Skye in my arms, it was the day after she was born. I got a call from our social worker, saying that the baby we were trying to adopt had just been born, and Audrey and I flew over immediately.”

His voice is shaky, but his words ring clear in her mind. It explains his reaction to their current situation, but it’s definitely not what she had anticipated. He’s never spoken to her as of yet about his own parents, just as she hasn’t made mention of her mother and father, so the only theory her mind had conjured up is one that involves him being an adopted child.

“It’s the only reason Audrey stayed as long as she did, so that Skye wouldn’t be taken from me once we split.”

His tears are still ever present, now raining down on their joined hands, and she wishes more than anything in this moment to have the ability to bring them to an end.

“Skye always asks me about her birth parents. Wonders who and where they are. I keep telling her that they gave her up because they couldn’t take care of her, that she was given to me because I could.”

Melinda nods along to his story, rubbing her thumbs across his knuckles and over his hands as he speaks.

“It isn’t a lie, but it’s not the entire truth either, and I hate keeping things from her. She’s perfect, so smart, intelligent; I can’t bear to tell her that her parents didn’t want her, and put her up for adoption before she was even born. I ask myself every day how anyone could be cruel enough to give up their own child.”

Melinda feels her stomach clenching with each of his words, and fights to prevent her body from tensing up. She shifts a little closer to him, so that their legs are pressed up against one another, and squeezes his hands tighter.

“And if they hadn’t given her up, she wouldn’t be with you, a father who loves her more than anything in the world.”

She’s not entirely sure if these words are the right ones to go with in this situation, but they seem to do the trick, because he offers her a teary smile and a series of slow nods. He’s evidently already feeling stressed out from the day, not just this conversation with her, and he looks absolutely awful, but his tears have stopped and he looks calmer now, and she’s the one who started this, but she’s fixed it, she’s fixing it.

“She is lucky to have you.”

He closes his eyes as Melinda leans over and proceeds to kiss away his tears, fingers gently massaging his neck and shoulders.

“You’re her biggest hero, and she loves you.”

She hovers above him as they reopen, pools of blue staring straight back at her, and she can feel him smiling against her lips as she kisses him again, this time on the mouth.

He’s okay.

They’ll be okay.


	26. Beneath Your Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Melinda spend some quality time together, and Tony and Bruce have a little accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Beneath Your Beautiful by Labrinth ft. Emeli Sandé

**Day 159:**

 

_Beauty and the Beast, the Hunchback of Notre Dame._   
_There are so many stories out there that speak lengths_   
_about how important inner beauty is, but even so, not_   
_enough people in the real world, our reality, realise that._   
_It matters not how beautiful someone is on the outside,_   
_if that isn’t reflected within. When the inner beauty_   
_reaches out to you, whatever is on the outside is beautiful too._   
_What matters is what is beneath your beautiful exterior._

 

When Melinda looks up from her desktop to find Phil, standing in the doorway with another large bouquet in his arms, she frowns.

“Phil. What did I say about the flowers?”

He looks a little sheepish as he shuffles in, closing the door behind him and making his way over to the vase that has now taken up permanent residence on Melinda’s office coffee table.

She just hopes Peggy doesn’t recognise it if she visits.

He takes out the older bunch of roses which are now drying up, and places the new flowers in, throwing the dead ones into a trashcan beside Melinda’s desk.

“It would be incredibly rude of me if I were to show up to ask my girlfriend out on a date without flowers.”

She can feel her face heating up as he watches her, and she inwardly curses because she thought the reactions to his compliments would die down once she was used to them.

Apparently, this isn’t the case.

She removes her hand from her mouse and leans back in her seat as Phil approaches, stepping behind her and letting his arms hang loosely around her shoulders.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Haven’t you been on call since last night?”

He nods, his head bobbing gently against the top of her head.

“And you still want to go out?”

He bends down a little more, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she raises a hand and intertwines her fingers with his.

“Skye’s been crashing all our dates lately.”

Melinda smiles as Phil continues to pepper kisses over her face and neck from behind, his hand pulling her hair away for more access.

“It’s alright. Skye’s wonderful, and I love spending time with her. You don’t have to worry.”

She turns, spinning the chair around to face him, and he’s beaming down at her.

“You’re wonderful. And I miss spending time together, just the two of us.”

She runs a hand over his arm, and she swears he almost tenses his muscles as her fingers pass.

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

* * *

 

Steve isn’t sure what to expect when one of the ER nurses informs him that he has a VIP in bed eight, with a giant grin plastered on her face. His suspicions are a result of the fact that she was usually super grumpy, and he hasn’t seen her smile once since he started working here.

He strides over to the corner bed and pulls back the curtain, bursting into laughter at the pair in front of him.

“Dude would you shut up.”

“Um Steve, would you mind closing the curtain.”

He ignores the first instruction and follows the second, in hysterics as he reaches back and pulls the curtains shut before turning to his friends, who are currently in a very precarious situation.

“I thought you two were doing a med lab for the interns. How did you manage to end up like this?”

He looks from Tony to Bruce then back to Tony, and attempts to mimic the raised brow that Peggy and Natasha are so fond of using, but it just makes his eye twitch so he settles for an expression that hopefully spells both amusement and disbelief.

The pair are sitting side by side, squashed together in an attempt to fit them both on to the tiny ER bed, and they are joined, palm to palm, finger to finger. Steve can see that there’s some sort of substance adhering their hands, causing them to be stuck together, and cannot for the life of him come up with a plausible explanation as to how on earth they had managed to wind up like this.

The curtain behind him moves, and Natasha walks through the gap, not bothering to pull the thing open.

“Looks like you boys have gotten yourself into a pretty sticky situation.”

She’s smirking and there’s a familiar evil glint in her eyes as she pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of them, before tucking it back into her pocket. There aren’t yells of protest, because if they make any noises louder than necessary, they will surely attract unwanted attention from anyone within a hearing distance.

“Don’t worry. Just keeping it for my personal collection.”

They aren’t about to ask her what on earth she means by personal collection, and she slinks back out into the ER, waving goodbye by sticking one hand between the curtains.

“Erm Steve, could you come and separate us already?”

He bites his lip to try and contain more laughter at the hilarity of this situation, and takes one stride towards them, carefully lifting up their conjoined hands with two gloved fingers for a closer inspection.

Grabbing both their wrists, he tries a quick tug, to make sure that they aren’t faking it, just in case, even though there really isn’t any reason to put oneself in such an embarrassing situation, and it elicits a loud yelp from both men.

Yep. They were definitely glued together.

Their high pitched screams of pain, er, no, manly shouts of pain, cause the curtain to fly open again, and this time it’s Maria, who begins laughing so loudly that the entire hospital can probably hear her.

“What the fuck did you two do?”

They raise their joined hands and glare at her, as if daring her to repeat the question, and their actions speak louder than words, but if words were to be said, they’d probably come out of Tony’s mouth and sound a lot like “what the fuck do you think we did?”

Steve’s huddled in one corner digging around for the chemicals that will separate them without melting their flesh right off, and a crowd of interns is gathering around behind Maria trying to take a peek.

“For fuck’s sake Hill, either get in and close the bloody curtains or get out.”

She turns and steps out dramatically shutting them and they can hear her yelling outside, to disperse the crowd.

“If you don’t move out, you’ll be doing rectal exams for the rest of the year.”

“Don’t believe me? You. Yes you. You’re on scut for the next week.”

“And you. You can suture up cuts down here for the rest of your surgical career!”

Her voice fades away as she chases the interns away, and she’s not really defending Tony and Bruce’s honour so much as she is finding an excuse to yell at them for being incompetent, and scaring them because she enjoys it.

“You two really not planning to tell me how you became sealed together?” Steve asks, as he returns with a tray full of supplies.

“Nope.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just stay in?”

Phil looks exhausted when he arrives to pick Melinda up for a dinner date in the evening, dark shadows prominent beneath his eyes, and she reaches a hand to brush against his cheek as he shakes his head.

“I’ve already made reservations, and I thought it’d be nice to take you out to dinner, just the two of us.”

She smiles fondly at him as she takes his hand and leads him into her apartment, kicking the door closed with a bare foot behind them. Standing on her tiptoes, she laces her arms around his neck and props her chin onto his shoulders, rubbing her cheek against his before nibbling softly at his earlobe.

“We don’t have to go out to have a nice time. I can think of many ways we can enjoy ourselves without leaving this apartment.”

He shivers under her touch and she takes a step back, rocking onto her heels, her hands beginning to undo the knot in his tie, purposefully trailing her fingers across his chest in the process.

Leaning down, he presses their lips together, his hands gripping her hips lightly as she fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. When they next pull apart for air, she’s pushing his shirt, along with his suit jacket, off his shoulders, and letting them drop onto a pile on the ground.

She presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw with a cheeky grin, and she slips her hands forward, hooking her fingers into his belt and pulling him closer. He closes his hands over hers with a frown.

“Why am I always the one that ends up naked first?”

She raises a brow and the underlying message is clear to him; he probably shouldn’t make any complaints when his incredibly attractive girlfriend is stripping his clothes off, so he removes his hands and mocks zipping his lips shut and throwing out the key whilst she laughs at his antics.

“You’re such a dork.”

He pretends to be offended, pouting, but she ignores him, wrapping one hand around his wrist and giggling as she pulls him into her bedroom.

“I expect those to be off by the time I return,” she smirks as she eyes his lower half, before escaping into the ensuite bathroom.

He can dimly hear the sound of water running as he bends down and unties his shoes, toeing them off before pulling off his socks as well. Moments later, as he stands with his pants and boxers in his hands, he briefly contemplates whether he should fold them up, just so it’ll be easier to deal with later on.

That’s how she finds him when she re-enters the room in a fluffy white bathrobe, standing over her bed and folding up his clothes. She smiles, letting him complete the task at hand before beckoning to him with a finger.

He’s at her side faster than should be humanly possible, and she leads him into the brightly lit bathroom, leaving the door open behind them. The bath is of a standard size, and half-way filled with water hot enough to steam up the room, and she gestures for him to enter as she opens up the cabinet looking around for something.

Just as he predicted, the water is almost scalding hot, but it’s exactly what he needs to relax, the stiffness in his muscles almost melting away with the heat. It’s probably inappropriate to gape, and it’s not as if he hasn’t seen it before, but Melinda is smirking at him as she unties the fabric belt holding her robe together, shrugging it off and tossing it to the bench in the far corner, and he’s pretty sure it’s not the thick air that’s making it difficult to breathe.

He can’t do anything but stare as she bends over to turn off the tap, before stepping in opposite him, almost sloshing the water over the edge of the tub as she moves around. She dips her head below the surface, soaking her entire body, and then she is moving closer, straddling him, her arms hooking around his neck to anchor her as she presses herself against him.

He braces one arm against the tub, the other wrapping around her waist as they kiss, urgently, passionately, but before he can take it any further, she pulls away with a grin. She grabs soap and a loofah and begins scrubbing him clean, and by the time they’ve both washed away the grime and dirt from the way, the water is cool.

She towels him off and he returns the favour, and they return to the bedroom cleaned and unclothed, crawling in beneath the covers. She dozes off in his arms, and he lazily twirls a strand of her dark hair in between his fingers, unable to imagine a more intimate connection than this.


	27. Thinking Out Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Pepper host Thanksgiving Day dinner, and some words are exchanged by Phil and Melinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran

**Day 165:**

 

_Have you ever had a thought, and then concentrated_   
_so hard whilst you were thinking that you’ve forgotten_   
_about the connection between your mouth and your brain,_   
_and then said it out loud? I, and probably millions, no_   
_billions of other people all around the world know it as_   
_“thinking out loud”._   
_Usually... no. Generally, it’s super embarrassing, but sometimes,_   
_it can work out in your favour._

 

Big Thanksgiving dinners are a long standing tradition amongst the doctors at Shield Memorial. Back in the day, they were hosted at Stark Manor by Howard Stark, when Tony was still a babbling baby, and sat on the turkey like it was his horsey.

For the past five years the dinner has been held at Tony and Pepper’s house by the lake, situated within a fancy estate with a tennis court and everything. Last year, Tony drank a little too much and clambered up onto the table to ride the turkey, only to cause the frame to collapse under his weight and dinner to be ruined beyond salvation.

They ordered pizza and chinese food and that was that.

This year, Pepper has banned alcohol on the premises, in a desperate futile attempt to prevent a repeat of the events from last year. All of the attendings and fellows and their families are invited, and Skye’s been to every one since Phil brought her home.

Phil knows that it must be a little boring for her honestly, because they’re aren’t any other kids there to play with, and the adults mostly eat and talk, more often than not about work related things.

She always looks forward to the evening though, as does he, because it’s a nice way to spend the holiday, like a great big family. And this year, it’s extra special, to him at least, because Melinda is going to be there. Technically speaking, Melinda is here with him now, well, at his apartment getting ready anyway.

Phil’s standing in front of his bathroom mirror adjusting his tie, and he can hear Skye giggling in the next room. He double checks his cufflinks before pulling on his jacket, and heads out to the living room to see what she and Melinda are up to.

When he walks into the room, Skye is weaving an intricate story about magic and mysteries set in a dystopic future taken over by technology, whilst Melinda does the same to her hair, pulling the strands around, curling, twisting them until they culminate in a fancy braid, securing the end with a thin elastic tie. She pats Skye softly on the shoulder when she is done, and Skye stands up, turning to Melinda and pulling the braid forward, inspecting it with great excitement and a giant smile.

“Thank you Melinda. It’s so pretty.”

Melinda bends down, placing her hands onto Skye’s shoulders and looking her in the eye.

“You are so pretty.”

Phil’s chest swells with pride at the interaction between “his girls”, though Melinda would probably smack him for referring to her in such a way. Skye notices him as she spins around, her golden dress poufing up as she does, and she runs towards him, reaching her arms out.

“Dad, look! Melinda did my hair for me. She’s so cool,” Skye informs him, the last sentence coming out more like a whisper, but Melinda smiles and he knows that she’s heard.

Phil huffs, letting out a loud sigh, and walks towards the couch, dropping down with a loud thunk.

“Are my french braids not good enough for you anymore?”

She scurries over to him, hopping up beside him and pressing a palm against his face.

“Dad, you’re so silly.”

She giggles, and Melinda joins in laughing as she retrieves her coat from the arm of an old leather chair, slipping it on over the tight fitting red dress she wore on their first date.

“That he is.”

* * *

 

Everyone is gathered in the kitchen when Phil, Melinda and Skye arrive, and Tony Stark can probably afford a dozen personal chefs skilled in international cuisine, but he’s standing there with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, mashing boiled potatoes in a large bowl. Pepper’s beside him in a white apron, measuring out butter, milk and salt.

There’s a giant bird in the centre of the kitchen bench they’re working at, a misshapen turkey and Phil can only assume that this is “the great turducken” that Tony and Bruce have been bragging about. He’s still not quite sure why they are so insistent that sticking a deboned chicken inside deboned duck inside a deboned turkey will make for such an amazing Thanksgiving day dinner.

Chief Fury - well, Nick, but it’s odd to refer to him as anything other than Chief - is preparing the deep frier with Bruce, and Phil makes a mental reminder to keep Skye out of the kitchen when the bird is lowered into the vat of bubbling oil.

Thor’s girlfriend Jane - a travelling neurologist and professor - is in town, and she’s beside him at the stove, the pair chatting while he stirs a saucepan full of cranberry sauce. Mack is working on a large stock pot filled with boiling liquid and vegetables; Phil is looking forward to that dish in particular, because Mack is an excellent chef, and his mother’s squash soup is a classic.

Peggy is assisting Trip in the assembly of his precious pumpkin pie, his contribution to the Thanksgiving day dinners since he started receiving invites. It’s a recipe passed down from his grandmother and he’s very proud when it turns out just right, the filling smooth and rich and the crust golden and flaky. Vic and Maria are opposite them, kneading out dough for a quick and easy cornbread; Maria grumbling on and on about how it’s unfair to ban alcohol just because Tony can’t handle his liquor.

It’s a little more than public knowledge that Maria is just as bad, if not worse, with a couple of drinks in her.

Bobbi and Lance are back to back, each with a giant knife in hand as they go about preparing vegetable side dishes. Last year everyone else had been lucky, because they had decided to make up before Thanksgiving and were getting along. This year it feels like the cold war is happening in the two and a half feet of air separating them.

Phil slips an arm around Melinda’s waist as they head towards the main kitchen bench together, Skye skipping merrily around receiving hugs and kisses from all of her de facto ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’.

Natasha and Clint are over in a far corner, on either side of Steve and Bucky as they try and teach the pair how to make stuffing. Clint is far more skilled in the kitchen than Natasha, who isn’t bad, but he daren’t say it for fear of his life, but he doesn’t hesitate in reminding her that she is Russian, and that he was born and raised in the States, so he obviously has better judgement concerning a classic Thanksgiving side.

Melinda pokes Phil in the side and smirks when he pouts at Skye running over towards Grant, who is sitting beside Natasha not participating in the food preparation because his only capability is a sandwich.

Phil’s clearly overprotective, and it’s sweet but amusing to watch nonetheless, and Skye is tugging at Grant’s sleeve asking “Did you bring Buddy, did you bring Buddy?” before turning to Clint and repeating the question, “Did you bring Lucky, did you bring Lucky?”

Her smile widens into a grin when both men nod in affirmation, and she tails after Grant as he leads her down the hallway and into another room, because even though both dogs are house trained and very obedient, Pepper is adamant about not letting animals in the kitchen, not live ones anyway.

Phil reminds himself to thank Clint and Grant later, because he’s well aware that both dogs have been brought along purely for Skye’s amusement. Because of their occupations and living arrangements, Buddy generally resides with Grant’s grandmother, and Lucky with Clint’s parents at their farm, in an adjoining state.

All in all, a traditional Shield Memorial Thanksgiving pre-dinner.

* * *

 

Hours later, they’re sitting around the dining table, stomachs full and spirits high. There are about half a dozen conversations flying around all at once, and instead of attempting to follow along like he usually does, Phil places a hand on Melinda’s knee, and just watches her as she talks to Maria.

Skye’s already dragged “Uncle Nick” away from the table and out into the room where the dogs are being kept, and the table has been cleared, the untouched left over food due to be taken down to the homeless shelter later in the evening.

It’s nice to have a break, without worrying about things back at the hospital, their shifts covered by the other attendings who will take their time off during other holidays.

It’s still early, only nine in the evening, but they begin dispersing because many of them have shifts that start at three or four in the morning, and as enjoyable as this gathering is each year, it’s quite draining too.

Skye is asleep in Phil’s arms when he and Melinda head out towards the car, and he sets her carefully down in the back seat, reaching over and securing the seat belt, before shutting the door and stepping over to open the front passenger one for Melinda. She squeezes his hand before getting in, rolling her eyes at his chivalry, and pulling the door closed before he has a chance to shut it for her.

She offers her hand to him as he starts the car, and their fingers stay interlocked for the entire journey back to his apartment.

* * *

 

His fingertips are barely grazing the skin of her bare back, dancing up and down the curve of her spine because she’s lying here, beside him in his bed and he can’t help himself. Her hair is splayed all around, the sheets only pulled up half way, barely covering her hips, because the door is locked and he may or may not have turned up the heating.

He withdraws his hand quickly as she moves, turning until she is facing him and brushing her hair back, out of her face with one hand. She regards him with a sleepy smile as she shifts a little closer, propping herself up on one elbow, mirroring his position.

“Aren’t you tired?”

He supposes that they both are; they had both been on call until midday, and then they’d stopped off at Melinda’s house so she could grab a quick shower; okay, they both grabbed a shower, together and it definitely wasn’t quick, but that’s beside the point. She’d packed an overnight bag, and then they’d driven over to Jemma’s place to pick Skye up. And there had been the dinner which was great, but draining, hence Skye not even budging as he carried her up to her bed and tucking her in.

Melinda had been waiting for him when he re-entered his room, in the middle of his bed, leaning against the headboard, make up hastily wiped off, wearing a thin t-shirt and a pair of leggings, and he was done for the moment she beckoned him with a single finger.

Luckily for them, Skye was, and always had been, a very heavy sleeper. She’d wake when she wanted to, and not a second before that, and even as a baby she slept well at night.

“You did all the work.”

She laughs and smacks him playfully, her hand connecting with his chest, and before she has a chance to pull back, he encircles her wrist with his fingers, bringing it up to his lips and showering it with kisses.

She’s watching him intently, her brown eyes wide and shining, a soft smile gracing her lips and a pink tinge spreading across her cheeks, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen a sight more beautiful that this.

They’ve only been officially dating for two months, but everything with Melinda feels right, and the believer in him thinks that he may have found his soulmate. It sounds cheesy, even in his mind, and it’s probably much too soon, but he’s pretty sure this is what love feels like.

He’s in love with her.

She suddenly jerks her hand out of his grasp, shifting away from him as she sits up and pulls the covers up to her chest and he realizes that he’s said the words out loud.

Shit.

He is such an idiot.

He sneaks a glance over at Melinda, but her gaze is averted and her expression is obscured by strands of dark hair. She hasn’t said anything, and he’s not sure he should say any more than he already has.

He can’t, no, he won’t take it back, and he’s not going to apologise for admitting his feelings, but the tension that has shifted between them is almost unbearable. She won’t even look at him, and he’s probably ruined everything.

He doesn’t even want to imagine what she’s thinking right now, and he’s afraid his silence sounds like he’s waiting for her to return the words, so he quickly pulls his the sheets back and slides out of the bed, slipping into a pair of sleeping pants, because if he’s spending the night on the couch, he doesn’t want Skye to see him in his boxers if she wakes up early in the morning.

“Phil, what are you doing?”

Melinda’s facing him now, her voice small and soft, one hand holding up the sheets covering her body, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say her eyes seem watery.

“I’m...I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I’m just going to crash on the couch tonight,” he says, jerking a thumb towards the door as he scratches the back of his head with his other hand, internally cringing at the way his voice had cracked while speaking.

He turns away and heads for the door, but before he can reach for the handle, and hand shoots out and grabs his, and he hadn’t even heard her move, but Melinda’s wrapping her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest and there’s no space between them anymore.

“No. Stay.”

He isn’t sure how to react, and he’s still afraid to meet her gaze as she raises her arms winds them tightly around his neck and shoulders. Taking a deep breath he looks down at her, and she’s watching him with wide eyes, no trace of the playful expression from earlier, only what appears to be fear. Clearly his lack of reaction to her words is the wrong way to go, because she looks away once more, and her grip on him weakens.

“I’m sorry.”

She’s apologising, and it’s ridiculous. Why should she have to apologise because she can’t, or doesn’t want to say the words back? Before she releases him completely, he places a firm hand on her back, and bends down, another arm beneath the back of her thighs, and she seems to take the hint, because she jumps up into his arms, tightening hers around him as she locks her ankles behind him and buries her face in the crook of his neck.

He’s well aware that she is very much naked, but that’s really not the biggest issue at hand as he walks them back over to his bed, sitting on edge as she settles in his lap.

“Don’t apologise. I… I should have better control over my mouth, it came out too early, but I meant it. I love you, and it’s okay. You don’t have to say it back, but since I’ve already blown things by telling you, I love you. I love you and I don’t want you to feel bad.”

He cradles her face as he speaks, staring into her eyes, and the fear is gone, but he can’t read the expression in there. She removes an arm from around his neck and touches his cheek before pressing their foreheads together.

“Phil, I…”

He places one hand on her hip to secure her position, so she won’t tumble off him and onto the ground.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

“No, I…”

“Melinda.”

“No, Phil-”

“It’s late, we should probably get some sleep.”

He’s about to let her hop off him when she grabs his face with mouth hands and kisses him, almost forcefully, and he groans involuntarily as her tongue invades his mouth, but only for a moment because she pulls back and looks straight at him.

“I love you too.”

He’s shocked, stunned, and he’s probably dreaming because his girlfriend, Melinda, the beautiful woman sat atop him, has just proclaimed her love for him. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he feels a pair of fingers pressing at the pulse point in his neck, and another one running beneath his nose to check whether he’s still breathing.

“I thought I was going to have to resuscitate you then.”

He grins and kisses her, and he’s so happy right now that he can’t feel any of the exhaustion that is plaguing him from the day.

“Like this?” he asks as he pulls away, rubbing his nose against hers as she smiles.

“No. I was just going to lay you down and hit you really hard on the chest.”

She giggles as she crawls off him and back up to the head of the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest as she waits for him to join her. He strips off his bottoms and almost jumps back in beside her, wrapping his arms around her as they both slide back beneath the covers.

He loves her.

She loves him back.

If he were to pull back the curtains and look out at the night sky, he’d probably say something cheesy like ‘even the stars are shining brighter now’.


	28. I'm Sexy and I Know It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Shield has a showdown with Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : I'm Sexy and I Know It by LMFAO

**Day 173:**

 

_You haven’t been to a proper karaoke tournament,_  
 _until you’ve seen four grown men, respectable -_  
 _well, both the grown and respectable parts are debatable,_  
 _but I’m getting off track here. You haven’t been to a proper_  
 _karaoke tournament, until you’ve seen four (debatably)_  
 _respectable doctors, drunk and red in the face, climb up_  
 _on the stage and sing “I’m Sexy and I know it.”_  
 _Enough said._

 

The first snowfall of the winter arrives early in the morning, and when the majority of the city’s population rise from their beds, a thin white blanket covers the streets. It’s not enough to impede the traffic, and by the time the sun is high in the sky, most of it has melted away and ran down the drains.

Still, the temperature is much lower now, and Melinda pulls on a pair of leather gloves lined with faux fur, a knitted white scarf with a matching beanie, and thick woolen boots in addition to her regular wear for Autumn, before she even considers leaving the apartment.

There’s another hospital event on tonight, and she wonders if it’s just Shield Memorial that has so many traditions and social gatherings, or if she was really that antisocial back in California.

She’s not a huge fan of karaoke, or anything that places her under the spotlight and draws attention from a crowd; but she’s not on call and she supposes seeing her co-workers drunkenly singing into the early morning hours might make for great Friday night entertainment. It certainly sounds more exciting than staying in her apartment all evening with only a stack of case files and medical journals for company.

Oh, and Phil’s going too.

She’s never heard him sing, not really, because she’s pretty sure belting out the Captain America theme song in the shower doesn’t count. Melinda doesn’t plan on joining in, because the only way she’ll agree to sing in public is if the alcohol in her bloodstream is way above the legal limit, and she has no intention of getting that drunk.

She’ll sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

She pulls her coat tighter around her as she walks down the front steps of her apartment building, the cold nipping at her cheeks. She smiles when she sees Peggy and Steve standing by his car, a couple of metres away. She’s not quite sure how much the hand holding and blushing can be accredited to Natasha, but it’s clear that not all of her schemes end in failure.

Melinda stuffs her hands into the pockets of her heavy black overcoat as she approaches; even with gloves on the cold is seeping in and she’s still can’t quite understand how Peggy can be so resistant to the cold, wearing only a thin sweater over her long sleeved shirt, another classic floral skirt and tennis shoes.

Sure, she’s British and grew up in England, but Melinda’s family home in Pennsylvania is probably equally as cold, and in the nineteen years she had lived there, she never managed to adapt to the weather. Moving away to Los Angeles not too long after her twentieth birthday let her escape the freezing cold for almost a decade, but then she had to change her mind and come to D.C.

Steve on the other hand, is a different matter entirely.

He’s wearing track pants and a t-shirt, holding a hoodie in one hand and seemingly unaffected by the weather, which is ridiculous because it was snowing just hours ago and everyone else hurrying down the street around them are in garb not unlike Melinda’s.

“How on earth are you two not freezing?” she asks, teeth chattering as Steve opens the door for them both, and she and Peggy slip into the back seat.

“It’s really not that cold.”

Melinda begs to differ.

* * *

 

“I can’t stand it anymore, the tension is killing me!”

Clint looks up from his position on the couch, to Natasha, who is pacing around his kitchen with one of his chef’s knives in hand. He can’t really tell if the steam in the kitchen is coming from the pots she has on the stove or out of her ears, because her face is nearly as red as her hair.

She’s angry, well, annoyed at the very least. About something.

He’s not sure if he wants to ask, but knowing Natasha, he most likely won’t have to, and she’ll tell him about it anyway, whether he wants to hear about it or not.

“I mean, how can two people break up that many times in a year?”

Ahh. Bobbi and Lance.

He winces as she rapidly cuts up something on his wooden chopping block; he can’t see what it is from here, but he’s sure that even a brick wouldn’t warrant that much force. He’s genuinely afraid that she may split the board and shatter the knife, or even crack his marble bench top.

“And they haven’t gotten back together in months. It can’t just be game over right?”

Clint chooses to keep his mouth shut - because when Natasha is ranting, it’s best to just let it pass - interruptions will more than likely slow down the rate at which she speaks, which will only prolong the torture. He slowly rises up from his set and inches his way into the kitchen, standing at a cautious distance beside her.

“They can’t just split up - they’ve been on and off forever.”

She spins around, knife in hand, pointed at his chest, and he sucks in a deep breath, eyes widening. The action appears unconsciously executed, and she takes a step back when she realises what she’s doing, dropping the knife down onto the wooden chopping block with a small giggle.

“Oops.”

She hastily wipes her hands down on a kitchen rag and tosses it haphazardly down by the sink, and normally he’d be there cleaning up, unable to stand any form of mess, but she’s looping her arms around his neck, resting her face against his shoulder and he can’t help but return her embrace.

“You think we can sneak a duet in for them tonight?”

Her fingers are massaging his neck, and he’s not a huge fan of Natasha’s matchmaking hobbies to be honest, but he loves her, and if it’s what she likes to do, he’ll help her however he can.

“I think you can do anything that you want to do,” he answers, making a point to enunciate the you as he speaks, raising a hand to gently brush back a strand of orange-red hair. He misses the curls, but he’ll love her no matter her appearance.

The beaming smile she gives him is a clear indication that his response has been accepted, and she kisses him, before removing herself from his arms, and giving him a playful slap on his gluteus maximus, shooing him from the kitchen.

* * *

 

The karaoke lounge that they’ve rented out is incredible; it’s the largest room available at the bar, complete with psychedelic lights, a fully equipped stage, and a large LED screen. Four person booths line the three other walls, and there are silver tables and stools scattered throughout the room, each with a small tablet installed, that allows patrons to order snacks, drinks and queue songs as they wish.

The room is clearly split into two, one side patterned in black and white, the other black and red, the latter filled with unfamiliar faces, dressed in black t-shirts decorated with a strange octopus like creature, and the word HYDRA, both in a bright red colour.

Melinda doesn’t have time to check out “the competition” because Natasha’s at her side the moment she enters, and dragging her and Peggy into the adjoining ladies room to change. As she slips the white t-shirt marked with a black Shield logo and their hospital’s name, she wonders if this whole tournament thing is taken a little too seriously by both sides.

They return to the lounge five minutes before the evening’s events are scheduled to begin, and head quickly over to a table by the back where Phil and Clint are, each with a drink in front of them already. Peggy leaves them, so she can speak to Chief Fury, who is at the front of the room, engaged in a conversation with a man Melinda presumes to be Dr. Whitehall, the man in charge over at Hydra Holistic Healing Hospital. He’s thin and pale, with greying hair and black rimmed circular glasses; something about him just gives her the creeps.

Phil greets her with a kiss that’s probably a little too long for a public situation, but she can’t bring herself to pull away until Clint wolf whistles at them. When they break apart, Phil’s arm settles around her waist, and she leans back against him, rolling her eyes at Natasha who is watching them with glee.

“Are you guys singing tonight?” Melinda asks, reaching for Phil’s drink and giving it a careful sniff, before taking a small sip and wrinkling her nose at the taste.

“Of course, the more of us that participate the more likely we are to smash those Hydra goons. Clint’s doing the closing number with the other male Barbies, and Phil here is doing a duet with Maria. You’ll just have to wait and see about me.”

Melinda smirks, softly nudging Phil in the side with her elbow, and he shrugs, tilting his head to one side as if to say “I didn’t really have a choice in the matter”. Pulling her closer with his arm, he leans down to whisper in her ear, and she finds it difficult to remain calm when his breath tickles the side of her neck.

“Is there any chance you’ll grace us with your innumerable talents this evening?”

Before Melinda can respond, Natasha’s snorting and shaking her head.

“If you’re asking her to sing, you should reconsider. She sounds like a cross between a screechy wet cat and nails on a chalkboard.”

Both Melinda and Phil raise a brow at Natasha’s vivid description of Melinda’s singing abilities, Phil’s in surprise and curiosity, and Melinda’s as a warning. He turns to her with a look of amusement, and is definitely surprised when she doesn’t try and correct Natasha’s comment. She simply grabs Phil’s drink once more and takes a large gulp this time, before coming up with a response that effectively ends the current topic in play.

“I hate you. Both of you.”

Natasha snorts and says something under her breath that sounds a lot like “You love me”, whilst Phil just presses his cheek against her temple and mumbles a quiet “I still love you”; she kisses him, earning another loud snicker from Clint.

* * *

 

As much as the Shield Memorial staff loathe to admit it, Hydra has some pretty decent singers. Whitehall’s rendition of “I Just Can’t Wait to be King” is both extremely terrifying but well done, and he receives a standing ovation from his own staff.

Melinda recognises only one of the other Hydra employees, the greasy slime ball Garrett, who had hit on her at the Gala. He performs a duet with a curly haired nurse, Raina, and no one is really sure of which song they’re singing, but it’s entertaining, and in what appears to be an ongoing theme with 4H’s employees, very creepy and more than likely to send chills up one’s spine.

Phil and Maria’s duet is hilarious, and he’s a little put out by Melinda’s uncontainable laughter by the time he makes his way down from the stage and back down beside her. She justs rests back up against him and his pout transforms into a content smile.

The night seems to be never ending, and Melinda has a little more alcohol in her system than she cares to admit when the male Barbies finally take the stage to close the show. They’ve exchanged their Shield t-shirts for bright pink suits and rock out to “I’m Sexy and I Know it”, and if a casual onlooker were to pop in, this would appear very much like a scene one would find at a bachelorette’s party or strip club.

It’s a close “battle”, but Shield triumphs over Hydra, and Dr. Whitehall begrudgingly forks out enough cash to cover the evening’s costs. All in all, it’s a pretty eventful night, and everyone appears to be in high spirits when it’s time to head home, or in the case of some, back to work at the hospital.

Phil, who really only had half a drink that evening, no thanks to Melinda, drives her, and Clint and Natasha, home. They interlock their fingers between them, and Clint and Natasha are snuggled up together in the back seat, both sound asleep.

 


	29. Still Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are discussions about the holidays and Phil and Melinda go Christmas Shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Still Into You by Paramore

**Day 181:**

 

_Relationships fall apart for a myriad of reasons;_   
_some are major, huge events that disrupt the balance_   
_of said relationship, and others are minor, little things_   
_that build and build. Just because two people are apart,_   
_it doesn’t mean that their separation is permanent._   
_Misunderstandings can be corrected, mistakes can be_   
_forgiven. Oh and it helps if a thought similar to_   
_“Oh hey, I’m still into you”, pops up in your mind, then_   
_maybe the relationship is worth reconsidering._   
_But then again, who am I to be giving people relationship advice?_

 

“Anyone have big plans for the holiday season this year?”

Half of the attendings on call are having breakfast together, trying to shovel down some food before any more emergencies roll in. Being stuck in an operating room for hours on end without any energy is not pleasant in the slightest. Steve’s looking around the table at all of his co-workers, a dazzling smile upon his face as usual.

“We’re heading up to the farm,” Clint says proudly, beaming at Natasha, who just shrugs and rolls her eyes at him.

“Meeting the parents? Wow, you two must be getting pretty serious.” Steve’s genuinely happy for them - he's that kind of guy - but Maria's snickering as usual because she doesn't believe in relationships.

Clint’s still smiling like a fool and Natasha nudges him in the ribs, because as adorable as he is, no one should have to put up with a happy Clint for breakfast. Happy Clint talks and smiles too much and isn’t a far cry from drunk Clint.

“What about you Steve? Spending your holidays like the old man you are? Smoking a pipe, complaining about kids building snowmen on your lawn?”

“We’re all on call for most of it; you know how people get around the holidays - too much alcohol and not enough brain activity,” Maria butts in, crunching loudly on a bag of chips, earning herself glares from Tony who is eating a healthy sandwich under Pepper’s watchful eye.

“I’ve got myself a date with a little lady who’s real into me. If you know what I mean,” Lance adds, giving his eyebrows a wiggle and Natasha and Maria snort at him.

“Yes, Everybody on the planet knows what you mean Hunter.”

The occupants of the table still, and Lance turns gingerly around, looking up to meet the expressionless eyes of his she-devil ex-wife. He frowns at her, but she says nothing more, keeping up the blank forlorn look. It’s safe to say the bitter divorced couple have once again captured the attention of the entire room, making breakfast an entirely awkward affair.

Their staring contest lasts another minute, before Bobbi retreats, emptying her entire tray of untouched food into the bin and rushing out of the room. The attendings turn to Lance in surprise; their fights were never this quiet nor did they ever finish this quickly. Natasha shoots Clint a quick look, biting the inside of her cheek, and he’s scared to admit that he can almost see what she’s thinking.

She’s always loved meddling in the relationships of her friends.

* * *

 

“I still can’t believe you have to work on Christmas and New Year’s Eve.”

Melinda shrugs as Phil tightens his hold on her, swinging their joined hands between them with a sigh. They’re walking down the street towards the shopping mall together, both bundled up in winter garb, snow falling sparsely around them.

There are less than two weeks till Christmas, and having only known one another for six months, they made a decision to shop for gifts for each other together, just to make things easier and avoid wasting presents and money.

“I’ve always worked on the holidays; lets colleagues who have families to go home to take the day off.”

She purses her lips as he grows silent, and she can feel that he’s tensing up as they continue walking, nearing their destination. He doesn’t say another word as they head inside the building and begin to tug off their heavy coats, scarves, hats and gloves. She folds up the smaller items of clothing and places them into her bag, before slinging her coat over one arm as Phil does the same.

She prepares to take another step but his hand on her wrist stops her, and pulls her back to his side. They’re in one corner by the entrance of the mall, and he holds her against him, resting his chin on the top of her head, and with her cheek against his chest, she can feel his every inhale and exhale.

“You deserve time off too you know.”

She slowly pulls away to look up at him, resting her palms flat against his chest and smiling, softly shaking her head at him.

“You’re such a sap. And I’ve spent the last” -she counts off on her fingers- “eight Christmases on call by myself, so I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He cradles the side of her face with one hand and smiles sadly.

“And what if I said I wanted you to have time off for selfish reasons; so that you can spend Christmas with me?”

She smacks him lightly and rolls her eyes, disentangling herself from his embrace and looping her arm around his, prompting him to begin walking around the first floor of the mall.

“I’m sure you have your traditions with Skye, and I’m not going to back out of my shift. Plus, Natasha’s already arranged a trip with Clint to his family estate, and I don’t want to ruin their holiday.”

Phil just sighs once more, having realised that there is no way he can convince her any further, and concentrates on the task at hand, finding the perfect gift for Skye. His daughter has always been more than a little difficult to shop for, and that pattern is likely to continue. There are three major reasons that make finding her a Christmas present difficult:

One. Her interests fluctuate more often than the stock market - one year she had been obsessed with a cartoon program, so he had purchased her a series of toys and games related to said program, only to find out she no longer liked it.

Two, because she refuses to tell him what she wants - Skye’s always been excessively stubborn, and to this day he still doesn’t know whether she flat out refuses to tell him what gifts she wants simply because she doesn’t know, or to mess with his head.

And three - because he can’t sneak a look at her “Letter to Santa” - Despite his best efforts, once Skye hit the age of five, she transformed into a little non-believer. It made Phil feel a little silly, because his own parents had conned him into being a good boy for Santa, for almost ten years.

So here they are, entering shop after shop, trying to find gifts for each other as he scans the shelves for a gift that will appease his nine year old daughter. He keeps an eye on Melinda the entire time, checking to see if there is anything that catches her attention, but she seems majorly disinterested in all the items up for offer.

They take a break for lunch, heading out of the complex and down the street to a little family owned bar and grill with excellent steak and seafood. They each order a soup, Phil a pea and ham, and Melinda a cream of mushroom, because it’s freezing outside and this is one way to warm up. They split a grilled seafood combo, because the portions are too large to order two, and they laugh and talk between bites, linking their hands over the table, and from the corner of his eye, Phil can see the old married couple at the next table giving them knowing smiles.

They brave the cold once more after they’ve finished eating, and Phil wraps an arm around Melinda this time, holding her close and sharing as much warmth as he can manage. Sadly, they don’t have any more luck finding anything at the high end stores that line the streets, and before they know it, it’s dark outside, the temperature dropping another couple of degrees. Melinda’s definitely shivering beside him, so he suggests that they call it a day; he’s not surprised when she nods eagerly, and they make their way down the street to where his car is parked.

They head back to Phil’s place, and she rummages through his dresser to grab a change of clothes for him, while he packs an overnight bag for Skye. They’re buckled up in his car within twenty minutes, and Phil is adamant Melinda stay inside while he collects Skye from Jemma’s place, because her fingers are frozen, and despite her protests, he leaves her sitting in there with a quick peck on the cheek.

It’s only a fifteen minute drive back to Melinda’s apartment, and Skye regales them with vivid accounts of her morning swimming class and afternoon Spanish lessons with Jemma. She knows enough words to string barely comprehensible sentences together, and her accent needs a lot of improvement, but Melinda catches Phil grinning proudly from the driver’s seat and can’t help but smile too.

* * *

 

Melinda smiles as Phil closes the door to the spare room where Skye is now fast asleep, and less than a minute later, they’ve locked the door to her own bedroom and he has her pinned up against the wall, sucking bruises into her neck.

She eventually pushes him away, and heads to her wardrobe to find clothes to sleep in. They share a quick shower - no extra activities undertaken - and change into pajamas, climbing into bed and pulling the covers over them. The heating that Peggy has installed isn’t too great, and Phil had made sure Skye was well bundled up before bed so she wouldn’t freeze in her sleep.

Melinda uses Phil’s shoulder as a makeshift pillow, curling into his side as he wraps an arm around her, and runs her fingers up and down his chest below the covers.

“Today was rather unproductive,” she comments, sighing in content at the feeling of being in his arms.

He doesn’t respond, the hand that is stroking her shoulder doing it almost robotically, and she shuffles back a little, looking up to find him staring off into the distance with a frown. She shifts up a little, pressing a kiss to his nape before softly nibbling at his ear, and it does the trick, snapping him back to reality.

“What’s got you so distracted?” she asks, sitting up and turning to face him properly, pulling the covers up with her because even with the heating, the air feels chilly.

“Skye’s been asking me to take her to Disneyland for years, and if I don’t do it soon, she’ll be too old to enjoy it properly. And I was thinking it might make a great Christmas present for her,” he says, continuing to contemplate the idea in his find as Melinda nods, considering his words.

“You’re never too old to appreciate the magic of Disney, but that’s a wonderful idea for a gift. It’s a little quieter after the holidays, and I’m sure Peggy won’t have any problem giving you a break to take her,” she smiles, fingers reaching out to smooth out the frown he’s wearing.

She’s the one frowning now as his refuses to dissipate even under her touch, and she cups his jaw, forcing him to look at her.

“I’m sure Skye will be thrilled, and better late than never right? She’s still a kid, she’ll have fun, there’s no need to be upset,” she says soothingly, leaning closer to press their foreheads together, closing her eyes and inhaling his familiar scent.

“It’s not that, I..I know it might be a little too early to ask this of you, but I really want you to come with us.”

Her eyes open, and he wants to close his, because he’s almost afraid at how she might react. Her response shocks him, but in a good way, because she’s pressing her lips against his and shuffling over into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his hair.

He pouts when she pulls away before he can deepen the kiss, and she’s smiling at him, giving him a gentle pat on the cheek.

“As long as it’s alright with Skye, I’d love to.”

He beams at her and peppers her face with kisses, holding her close to him with a smile plastered on his face. She moves off him, settling right by his side, resting her head against his chest and slinging an arm around his waist, hooking her leg around one of his.

“I love you.”

He slips a little further down the bed, resting his head onto a pillow and reaching to switch off the lights.

“I love you too.”


	30. White Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : White Christmas (Cover) by Taylor Swift

**Day 193:**

 

_I grew up with freezing winters, snow lined streets_   
_every December. And by the time the 25th rolled around,_   
_we’d have ourselves a White Christmas, year after year._   
_It’s a little magical to watch the snowfall, and think_   
_about how lucky we are, to spend time with our families,_   
_eating, laughing, sharing. Still, the thought of a fat man,_   
_in a red suit climbing down a chimney never ceases to disturb me._

 

Christmas morning has been just him and Skye for quite a while now, and this year, it’s no different. She practically pounds down his door at seven, and because it’s winter, the sun is barely up, hidden behind fog and clouds, and it’s pretty much dark and gloomy - he really doesn’t want to get out of bed.

But as patient of a nine year old that Skye is, she still has her limits, so he throws back the covers and heads over to the door. He’s only just begun to turn the handle when Skye does the same and pushes it open, almost knocking the door straight into his face and flattening his nose. He rubs at the bump on his head as she grabs his other arm with one hand, and begins to drag him down the hallway, his red, white and blue socks sliding freely against the wooden floorboards.

They have a plastic tree, about seven feet high, and in the past two weeks it’s been strung with tinsel and lights, little baubles and decorations hung carefully from the branches. As magical as it was for him to grow up with a real tree each year, it’s just too much of a hassle in an apartment building, so they have this one that can be packed down in the new year and stored away until the holiday season rolls around once more.

Skye plops herself down on the woollen rug beneath the tree, and reaches out, moving the presents around until she pulls out one slipped between the tree and the wall, smiling proudly as she hands it to him.

“Merry Christmas Dad. Jemma helped me make it.”

He grins as he takes the large circular gift from her hands, testing it’s weight before turning it a few times to find the best place to tear it open. The wrapping is as neat as Jemma could have probably made it, the gift having such an odd shape, and Phil’s not one of those people who make a point of preserving wrapping paper, but he doesn’t want the clean up later to take forever.

“What are you waiting for? Open it, open it.”

Skye’s practically bubbling over with excitement, so he just takes a leap and tears the paper off, almost not believing what he finds inside.

It’s Captain America’s Shield.

Well, it’s a replica, hand made by his daughter and quite possibly the best gift he’s ever received... well besides her, but that’s a little cheesy. He admires it for a few moments longer, before setting it down carefully behind him, and pulling Skye into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I love it, you’re the best daughter, ever.”

She giggles and pulls away from him, scanning the gifts to decide which one to open first. She eventually chooses the package on the edge, the one easiest to access, a large well wrapped gift box almost half her height. It’s from Natasha and Clint, and Skye opens the card attached to the gift first, giggling, before easing the package out from beneath the tree and sliding it on the ground into her room, before returning to see the rest of her presents.

He can only guess that the card held instructions to not show her dear old dad the contents, and Phil can feel a headache beginning to develop.

Phil’s already stored away the Christmas presents he exchanged with his coworkers - mostly gift baskets, wine or gift cards, so the meticulously wrapped presents beneath the tree are all for Skye.

There’s a miniature science lab playset from Peggy, and a gift card to a large bookstore near the hospital from Steve. After seeing the book marked “How to Piss People Off and Get What You Want: A Three Part Guide” from Maria, Phil decides he really needs to have a chat with some of his friends about how to behave appropriately around children.

There’s new cheerleading equipment, including a set of decorated batons from Bobbi, and despite Skye’s disdain towards the sport Phil had insisted she partake in, she picks them up with a big smile, twirling them around in her hands, and he’s a little concerned that these sticks may be used as weapons.

There’s a giant operating room playset, with mini lights and plastic surgical equipment from Tony and Pepper, who both insist that she’ll follow in Phil’s footsteps and become a surgeon in the future.

He shakes his head as she unwraps stuffed animal after stuffed animal, wondering if he may have to convert his office space into a room just for her toys. She studies each one carefully, giving them quick hugs before setting them down beside her, and he’s well aware no stuffed toy will ever replace the old red dragon sitting at the back of her closet.

Phil sits back as Skye carefully moves away the last of her gifts, ready for her to turn to him in disappointment. Instead, she has a smug smile on her face and a raised eyebrow, and he really can’t fathom where on earth she had learned that from.

“Dad, I know you’re hiding my gift behind your back.”

He sighs dramatically and pulls out a small white envelope from behind him, and he smiles as she takes it with a small frown, wondering what gift he could have possibly packed so easily into such a small package.

She eases the envelope open, and squeals in excitement as she extracts the plane tickets to Los Angeles, printed several days earlier using the hospital printer, and five day passes to the California Disneyland. He’s nearly knocked backwards when she launches herself into his arms, almost choking him with her tight grip around his neck.

“I love you dad, this is the best present ever.”

Her smile is so wide it almost splits her little face, and he runs a hand over her hair as she sits back down beside him. He watches her closely as she inspects her gift, and takes a deep breath when she looks back up at him, three tickets in each hand.

“Is Melinda coming with us?”

“Only if you want her to,” he says, patting her on the knee with a smile. They’d booked three tickets, but if Skye decided that she wanted to spend the holiday just with Phil, then Melinda would only accompany them out to L.A, where she would spend the majority of her break visiting old friends and enjoying her vacation alone.

Skye looks aghast at his statement, frowning at him with her little hands on her hips.

“Of course I want her to come with us. Melinda’s the best.”

He wonders if he should feel a little jealous that his daughter thinks that his girlfriend is “the best”, because he only feels pride that they get along so well, and it’s much too soon to be thinking about things like this, but he can already see a future with Melinda; it almost scares him that things are happening so quickly.

“Is she joining us for lunch? Or coming over for dinner?” Skye asks with another huge smile, and it falls immediately when he shakes his head with a no.

“Melinda has to work,” he says, and it really needs no more explanation, because Skye just nods with a pout, getting up and running back into her room. He’s about to follow when she dashes back out, a small card in hand.

“Could you give this to her for me?

He beams with pride and accepts the card, carefully placing it by his precious new shield, and pulls her in for another hug.

“How about we go get some breakfast?”

* * *

 

“You know, as Christmas dinners go, this is actually pretty good.”

Steve laughs as he takes another bite of his burger, and Melinda smirks, reaching for another fry from a container sitting on the coffee table. The usually empty surface is covered with opened brown paper bags, thanks to Maria ordering an intern to go out into the snow and bring proper food back for them.

Poor Leo Fitz had knocked on the door of the attendings lounge not thirty minutes later, covered from head to toe in melted snow and ice, shuddering violently as he handed the bags over to Maria. Peggy had taken pity on the poor sodden thing, and told him to end his shift an hour early; Maria had rolled her eyes, saying she was much too soft.

So here they are, the attendings on call, sitting around an almost unbelievable amount of fast food for their Christmas dinner. There’s a large bucket of fried chicken sitting in the centre, surrounded by tubs of mashed potato and gravy, mac & cheese, wedges and coleslaw. An assortment of burgers and wraps are on one side, warm bread rolls, hot wings, fries and sodas on the other. Their food choice is extremely terrible, but it’s the holidays and they all have hours to go until they can return home and get some sleep.

“So, have you thought about your contract renewal?”

Maria, Vic, Mack and Trip are on on the opposite couch and arm chairs, leaving Steve, Peggy and Melinda together, and Steve is currently pre-occupied with his chicken burger, so it’s a good a time as ever to talk business.

“Didn’t we agree on another six months?”

Peggy frowns, pausing with a spoonful of mash and gravy halfway to her mouth.

“You’re still not considering a permanent contract? We can sign you on straight away.”

Melinda shrugs, taking another sip of her fizzy pink soda.

“Six months for now.”

Peggy rolls her eyes a little at Melinda’s stubbornness and sighs giving up for now. She grabs a tub of macaroni and cheese and even though Melinda’s known Peggy for so long, she can still scarcely believe the amount of food that Peggy can scarf down.

They only have a very short amount of time to eat, constraints set by the patients that will undoubtedly roll in tonight. The holiday season brings around a rise in accidents due to ornament hanging, tree chopping, use of one’s fireplace, and many other Christmas related incidents. Of course the cold weather, increased amount of ice and snow on the roads, and alcohol in the people, are cause for the majority of mishaps.

But this is exactly what they signed up for the day they enrolled to study in medical school, so no regrets there.

* * *

 

Melinda is walking through the halls back to the attendings lounge for a quick drink and hopefully a snack following two emergency procedures, both the result of a crash only three blocks from the hospital. She’s taking her phone out to check the time when it begins vibrating in her hands, the generic ringtone echoing around the busy hallway, and it shocks her so much she almost drops the damn thing.

She smiles when she sees Phil’s name on the screen, and slides her finger across to answer it, pulling it up to her ear.

“Don’t you have perfect timing,” she says with a small laugh, nodding as a nurse waves to her in greeting.

_“Merry Christmas Melinda. I wish you could’ve been here with us, our turkey was fantastic.”_

“Merry Christmas Phil. Maria nearly killed an intern trying to get us our dinner, but fried chicken is good any day of the year.”

He chuckles from his end and she shakes her head softly as she finally reaches the attendings lounge. The left over food still sits on the table, but the room is empty now, and she sighs, finding momentary refuge from the chaos outside.

_“Skye wants you to come along to Disneyland with us - she was appalled when I offered her the choice - before saying that you were the best.”_

Phil sounds both offended and pleased at the same time, and a warm sensation spreads through her at the thought of Skye’s approval. She pauses, because she’s really not sure how to respond to that, but Phil senses her hesitance and continues speaking.

_“What time do you get off?”_

She rolls back her shoulders before reaching to open the fridge, pulling out one of a dozen chilled water bottles and taking a long drink.

“Four.”

_“Damn, I start at eight.”_

Capping the bottle off, she carries it over with her to the coffee table and looks around at whatever food has not yet been eaten. Finding an unopened tub of potato and gravy, she grabs it and sticks it into the microwave, holding her phone between her ear and shoulder whilst bending down and trying to figure out how long it’ll take to heat up.

“It’s alright Phil. We have a holiday to look forward to.”

_“I know. But I miss you.”_

She breaks out into another smile; he’s such a sap, but she wouldn’t have him any other way.

“I miss you too Phil.

She considers asking whether they should arrange to see each other in the next couple of days before New Years, but their holiday world schedule is as busy as ever, so they’ll have to make do with stolen kisses between surgeries, fleeting hellos in hallways, and the occasional text message and phone call.

_“I’m headed off to bed now, but feel free to call me during my shift tomorrow. I love you.”_

“I love you too.”

With that, he hangs up, and his timing really is perfect, because the microwave lets out a loud beep, alerting her that her food is now ready. Reheated fast food sounds amazing right about now, and she hopes it’ll power her through the next five hours of work.

The snow is falling heavily outside, the streets covered in a thick layer of it, slowing down traffic and continuing to lower the temperature. The ambulances are arriving and departing, sirens wailing in the silent night, filling their ER with more and more patients.

Right now, there is nothing Melinda longs for more than the comfort of her bed.

Just another five hours.

 


	31. This Is The New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their own way of ringing in the New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : This Is The New Year by A Great Big World

**Day 199-200:**

_The second that the handle on the clock hits twelve_   
_on New Year’s Eve, it’s no longer New Year’s Eve but_   
_New Year’s Day. Now, I don’t really buy in to the whole_   
_“New Year’s Resolutions” because if you’re going to do_   
_something to change your life, you might as well start_   
_whenever. But hey, it’s not to say that the new year doesn’t_   
_have any significance because it does. Another three hundred_   
_and sixty something days have passed, and this is the new year._   
_This is a new year._

****  
  


“Aren’t you a little too old for snow angels?”

Clint’s standing over a giggling Natasha, who is lying on the snow-covered ground, frantically moving her arms and legs around, trying to create some sort of pattern. Snowflakes are falling all around them, and he can see them decorating Natasha’s hair for seconds before they melt back into their liquid state.

Her cheeks are flushed pink, a shade lighter than her ear muffs, and she’s wearing only a thin waterproof jacket over the rest of her clothes; he’s all wrapped up in hand knitted pieces because his mother wouldn’t let him leave the house otherwise.

“You may be an old man, but I’m still young and spry.”

He’s a little more hurt by that statement than he lets on, but in addition to being a kick-ass surgeon and former child prodigy, Natasha is also apparently brilliant at reading other’s emotions, if she puts her mind to it, and she sighs, extending an arm for him to help pull her up.

When his fingers wrap around her wrist however, she slams his legs out underneath him, and he lands on top of her with a loud grunt. He quickly attempts to push himself off, in case he’s squashed her, but she’s just another inch deeper in the snow, wearing an even bigger grin than before.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” he says, rubbing the tips of their frozen noses together, and that statement is completely untrue, because he knows exactly why he puts up with her antics; because the thought of being away from her hurts him.

So even though it’s below freezing outside and the sky is almost pitch black, he’s lying on top of her in the backyard of his parent’s estate, shuddering from the cold.

“Because you love me.”

This time he rolls his eyes and she raises a brow because it’s such an unusual expression to be seeing on his face. She pushes up into a sitting position and he moves beside her, immediately wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I do love you.”

The heat from his body is melting the snow beneath them and soaking his pants, and he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to ruin the moment, but she drags him up with an arm and pulls him back into the house, where it’s warm and toasty.

His parents are on the couch with Lucky between them, watching the festivities of the evening on TV, and his mother gestures to the two mugs of hot chocolate sitting by the heater. He grabs them with his gloved hands, and they wish his parents a good evening and happy new year before scurrying off up the stairs and towards his bedroom.

They change into pajamas - even in the dead of winter, Natasha sleeps in a tank and mini-shorts - before settling down on the edge of his bed, each nursing a mug of hot chocolate. If it were up to Natasha, she’d probably add a shot of vodka or two, but in his opinion, there’s nothing wrong with a regular good old mug of hot cocoa.

Once they’re done with their drinks, the empty mugs sitting on his nightstand, she pins him to the sheets, straddling his waist as she bends down and nibbles at the edge of his jaw. He turns his head slightly to get a better view of her, and her green eyes lock with his before she kisses him, lowering her body down to lie directly on top of him.

“It’s not even midnight yet,” he pants when she pulls away to catch her breath, but she only grins and squeezes his arm with one hand.

“I thought we could get an early start.”

* * *

 

“Another?”

When Bobbi slowly nods her head, the bartender takes away her empty glass and replaces it with another, this one filled with amber liquid. She’s not sure how many shots or drinks she’s had so far, but she’s far from being tipsy, and the only way she’ll survive through the to the new year is to get drunk and forget the painful memories associated with her ex-husband.

They fell in love, married quickly, and then fought each day until they both called it quits, and though their initial parting had been mutual, she still resents herself for not trying harder to make the marriage work, make it last. Each time they grew closer, became more comfortable with one another, he’d get scared and run away with his metaphorical tail between his legs, leaving her alone, whilst he was seeking the company of other women.

They get together, argue, break up, get back together, argue, and break up again; and the pattern has continued for years and years. She still loves him, and in the period between their numerous break ups, he claimed to love her too, but she really doesn’t know goes on in his mind and to be honest, she’s afraid to.

She downs the drink in one go, relishing the burning sensation in her throat and places the glass back onto the bar surface, resisting the urge to slam it down. Behind her, she can hear the other patrons of the bar getting rowdy; it’s growing closer to midnight, and a small television installed in one corner of the room shows the New Year’s Eve celebrations from Times Square.

The bartender pushes another drink in front of her without asking, and the closes her eyes, inhaling the aroma of the deep burgundy liquid. She feels someone take the empty seat beside her, and she doesn’t pay them any mind, concentrating on her own drink. After she drains her glass once more, she sets the empty glass back down, this time harder, and it feels pretty satisfying to do so.

“Can I get you another?”

With a glare, Bobbi turns to find her son of a gun ex-husband sitting right next to her with a drink in hand and a smug smile on his face.

“What do you want Hunter?”

“What? Can’t a guy buy his ex-wife a drink without an ulterior motive?”

This only intensifies her glare, and he waves the bartender over with a self satisfied smirk.

“A beer for me and a three olive martini for the lady, hold the olives.”

They sit in silence as the staff go about grabbing their drinks, and Bobbi’s not much of a fiddler, but she can’t help but continually clasp and unclasp her hands, interlocking her fingers and cracking her knuckles. She doesn’t even look up as her favourite drink is set down in front of her, and she sips at it slowly, fingers tightly gripping the stem of the glass.

When the bottom is dry, she twirls it around in her hands, between her fingers, and internally curses herself at her inability to speak.

“You remembered.”

It’s stupid; they’ve known one another for over a decade, of course he remembers; even Maria who remembers nothing, knows Bobbi’s favourite drink.

“What kind of guy would I be forgetting my wife’s favourite cocktail.”

It’s a slip of the tongue, because they’ve been divorced almost eight years, and when he uses the word wife in describing her, it’s usually with the prefix of ex and accompanied by descriptions including but not limited to psychotic, she-devil, demonic, and hell beast. But still, she turns to him, trying to suppress her shock and he’s leaning on one arm, watching her, and it’s so stupid, idiotic, and she doesn’t know why she keeps running back to him, but she reaches out, grabbing a fistful of his jacket and pulling him towards her.

Without hesitation, she seals their lips and one of his arms curls around her waist, the other digging into his pocket and pulling out more than enough cash to cover their tab. Hand in hand, they make a mad dash out of the bar, and down three blocks to his apartment.

Perhaps this was why she had chosen this particular bar, for the proximity.

* * *

 

Most people try to start their new year with resolutions they fully intend on achieving, but more often than not fail at. The most popular and infamous one among people of all ages is to be healthier - lose weight - but Phil’s always found it a ridiculous notion, so he and Skye traditionally ring in the new year with a large selection of treats.

There’s about ten different brands of candy all dumped into a large bowl; it’s about a years supply and will sit in the middle of the marble benchtop to be slowly chipped away at. A large bowl of blue cheese dip rests amongst a trayful of hot wings - mild of course, because as much as Skye seems to love spicy food, Phil’s not good at handling chilli.

Skye’s already munching on a handful of corn chips, and Phil’s got a bowl of salsa chilling in the fridge. There are three more trays in the oven; the smell of homemade potato wedges, chicken fingers and pizza wafting through the kitchen. There are already platters of mini burgers, fruit kebabs and vegetable sticks, with assorted crackers and a quartet of colourful dips. Phil’s still working on a cheese sauce at the stove, an option for those who don’t like salsa with their corn chips.

It’s a New Year’s Eve Party, and Phil will be damned if he doesn’t go all out. A couple of his friends are swinging by after work, and his neighbours will probably turn up later with desserts to contribute to the menu.

“You know Sir, your parties really get better and better each year.”

Jemma is carefully piping swirl after swirl of whipped cream frosting onto her famous strawberry cupcakes, occasionally placing a dollop onto Skye’s outstretched fingers. Leo Fitz, the butt of Maria’s jokes, who also happens to be Jemma’s best friend, is standing beside her assembling savoury pastries. He still feels a little awkward to be in the home of a man who is technically his boss, but as Jemma had pointed out earlier, Phil also happens to be her boss.

The food is plentiful, and the guests begin arriving not too long after they’ve completed their preparations, and Phil’s home is soon filled with some of his closest, and no-so-close, friends. They have the live broadcast from New York playing on the living room flatscreen, and someone, presumably Maria, has broken the alcohol out.

They’re all a little loud, but it’s New Years Eve, and most of Phil’s neighbours are in attendance, so he’s sure that there won’t be any complaints about the noise. Less than an hour until midnight, Phil escapes into the kitchen, where Skye is sitting crosslegged on the counter, eating leftover icing from the bowl with a bright green spatula that Jemma brought with her.

He’s checking his phone for any new messages from Melinda, and he’s a little disheartened to find none, placing the device onto the counter with a sigh.

“What’s the matter, miss your girlfriend?”

Skye’s tone is teasing, and she has a mischievous smile on her face, and as correct as her assumption is, he really doesn’t want to admit it to his sugar high daughter.

“You should go and see her.”

He raises a brow, because Skye makes everything sound so easy, but there’s no reason it should be difficult. He could go and see Melinda, but there’s every chance she’s busy with a patient, or in surgery, and he doesn’t want to become a distraction. Not to mention how rude it’ll be to ditch his guests.

“Plus, if you don’t kiss her at midnight, you guys won’t last into the New Year.”

Words of wisdom from his nine year old. His only response is to give her a slight raise of his brow and once again, she rolls her eyes at him with a sigh.

“Come on dad, Melinda’s awesome, you might never find another girlfriend like her again.”

Phil wants to point out that not seeing his girlfriend for several days will not lead to a break-up, but Skye pretty much has a one track mind when it comes to some things, and it doesn’t seem like anything will influence her otherwise. But it’s not as if he doesn’t want to, he really does, he wants to see Melinda, hold her, he’s only seen glimpses of her at the hospital these past few days and he misses her so much.

Making a split second decision, he pats Skye on the head, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re in charge while I’m gone, okay?”

She just laughs, face and hands covered in deflating whipped cream and powdered sugar, shooing him away.

“I’ll make sure Aunt Maria doesn’t steal all your good wine.”

* * *

 

Melinda has an hour long break before her next scheduled surgery, and she’s spending the down time with a cup of hot tea and half a cold sub sandwich, leftover from her ten minute dinner break.

Phil hasn’t replied to her text from twenty minutes ago, but it’s nearly midnight, and the party at his place is probably quite wild right about now.

She’s sitting at her desk because her office chair is comfortable enough, and she’s using only her desk lamp to read over files whilst half-heartedly chewing on her sandwich.

The lamp is casting a soft light over the Christmas card Skye made for her, standing proudly beside her desktop. Phil had left it for her in her office three days ago, and she hadn’t been able to stop smiling for nearly twenty minutes after finding it, reading the neat print within over and over again with a grin.

“Thank you for putting up with my dorky dad.”

There’s a knock on her door, and she looks up quickly, frowning, hoping more than ever there isn’t extra work because she really wants to use whatever is left of her break to take a quick nap. Swallowing the last bite of her sandwich, she takes a gulp of water to wash it down and calls for whoever is at her door to come in.

Her frown quickly morphs into a smile however, when she sees that it’s Phil, and it’s a little dramatic, but she kind of wants to race into his arms right about now. He grins at her, locking the door behind him, and they meet halfway as he steps towards her desk and she moves out from behind it.

In a flash she’s in his arms, her own wound around his neck, and they’re holding tightly onto one another.

“What are you doing here?”

He strokes her cheek with one thumb, his hand cupping her face as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I had to come and give my girlfriend a kiss. I wouldn’t want her leaving me in the New Year.”

She just laughs, bringing a hand down to smack his chest lightly, rolling her eyes at the same time.

“You are such a dork Phil.”

She pulls away from him, and an expression of concern graces his features, but it’s quickly replaced by one of curiosity as she steps out of her flats, removing her coat and pulling her hair from the ponytail it was tied in, letting it flow behind her.

Turning to him with a smirk, she crooks a finger, and he immediately follows her wordless directions, stepping towards her, and she leans up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Her fingers begin deftly undoing the buttons on his shirt, and in seconds, she’s tugging it out of the waistband of his pants and he takes the hint, quickly shrugging out of it.

He leans down, pressing their lips together once more, burying a hand in her soft, dark hair, other hand gripping her hip, fingers quickly sliding up and beneath her scrub shirt, teasing the smooth skin of her waist. She hooks her fingers into the loops his belt is threaded through, pressing herself against him and pouting as he pulls away, lips leaving hers.

“I did say I came to give my girlfriend a kiss. I didn’t mention any other activities.”

He’s teasing, but she huffs and shoves him away, quickly pulling her scrub shirt over her head, and slipping out of her pants, standing in front of him in only her underwear. Leaning over, she grabs a file from her desk and sits herself down on the couch, doing an excellent job of pretending to be engrossed by the sloppy handwriting and messily drawn up charts.

Acting like she’s displeased with him is more amusing than she expects it to be, and she reclines into the seat a little further, casually turning the page, propping her bare feet up onto the table.

He seems to realise his mistake in taking a jibe at her, and quickly sits down beside her, trying to get her attention by pressing kisses to her arm and shoulder. When she continues to ignore him, he sidles closer, rubbing his nose against her neck and nibbling at the soft flesh beneath her ear.

“You know I love you,” he whispers, lips ghosting beside her cheek and that’s that. She drops the files onto the table and pushes him down on the couch beneath him, fingers working at his belt buckle.

Phil’s not sure they were actually kissing at midnight like he intended, but as she hastily pulls her scrubs back on forty five minutes later, whilst he sits on the couch clad in only his boxers, he guesses that it really doesn’t matter.


	32. A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to Disneyland they go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes from Disney's Cinderella

**Day 203:**

_There are some things that everyone should get to experience._  
_Swimming in the ocean, gazing up at the stars, running barefoot_  
_across a field of flowers. There’s one magical place that everyone_  
_should visit. It’s not natural, not a hidden cove or a neverending forest;_  
_Disneyland - where magic comes to life. Seriously, I’m not joking._  
_Reality is harsh, and no matter what your age, it doesn’t hurt_  
_to believe in a little magic; to have hopes and dreams._  
_After all, a dream is a wish your heart makes._

Melinda supposes being nearly ten is a little old to be carried in your father’s arms, but it’s growing close to one in the morning, and Phil insists that Skye can literally fall asleep anywhere, and she’s pretty tiny for her age so it doesn’t appear that odd anyway.

They had boarded without too much hassle, having checked all their luggage, and Melinda was carrying just her regular handbag and Skye’s backpack as they headed onto the plane. The flight had only taken six hours, but the take off had been a little delayed, so here they are wandering through LAX, making their way out to the taxis, exhausted. It’s four in the morning back in DC, so it’s no surprise that they’re tired.

The drive out to Melinda’s place is no longer than twenty five minutes, and when they pull to a stop outside her apartment, it’s Melinda who picks Skye up in a piggy-back position as Phil carries their luggage.

The apartment is technically still under her parents’ names; they’d purchased it as an investment years back, and given it to her as a gift for starting her internship. She’d left it pretty sparse when leaving for D.C.; but everything is neat and tidy thanks to a jolly fifty-something woman from upstairs who comes down to tidy things up every two or so weeks for a very low fee.

They leave their things just inside the doorway, and Melinda transfers Skye back into Phil’s arms as she heads over to the wall and flicks on the lights. She guides them towards the spare bedroom, and she watches with a smile as Phil carefully tucks Skye in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

His eyes are drooping a little when he turns back to her, and Melinda takes his hand slowly pulling him out of the room and down to her own bedroom. She’d taken her most valuable items with her to DC, but over half her clothes still hung in the closet, almost empty perfume bottles, gifted by others lining the armoire, and old books from medical school crammed into a tiny shelf by the window.

It’s warm in LA, and she strips down to her underwear before climbing into bed next to Phil, who is wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of red, white and blue boxers. He has them in a dozen different designs and she knows that Phil’s patriotism stems mostly from his love of Captain America.

She curls into his side, her head lying against his shoulder, and he drapes an arm over her hip, hand settling at the base of her spine, and they doze off together, breathing in harmony.

* * *

 

Skye, despite being a heavy sleeper, has also always been an early riser, and wakes just before seven in the morning. Her surroundings are unfamiliar, but she’s smart enough to guess that she’s in a spare room at Melinda’s apartment - just like her dad and Melinda had said when they were planning the itinerary for their trip.

Pulling back the covers, she slides out of the very nice smelling sheets, and walks quickly through the open door and out into the hallway. There are more rooms here than she has at home, but all the doors are open except the furthest, so her dad and Melinda must still be inside, probably asleep.

She ponders whether to wake them, but the sun is already out and her dad doesn’t sleep in much anyway, so she approaches the door and presses her ear against it, trying to check for any signs that they were awake.

She can’t hear anything, it’s pretty much silent; so she knocks quietly, and strains her ears to see if anyone has heard her. Within moments, the door opens, and Melinda is standing there in a bathrobe, her hair wet, but not dripping.

“Good morning Melinda.”

Melinda smiles down at Skye and opens the door wider, ushering her into the room. Phil is still sound asleep beneath the covers, and she shoots Skye a conspiratory smirk before glancing over at his sleeping form.

Taking the hint, Skye charges at full speed towards the bed and leaps on top of her father, causing him to jolt awake, instinctually sitting up and yelping in surprise. Skye is giggling so hard her face is turning pink, and Melinda finds that she can’t help but join in on the laughter. Phil is less than pleased as Skye drops onto the covers beside him with a giant grin, and he sends a glare in Melinda’s direction, but she just shrugs and feigns ignorance at how he had just been violently attacked.

Phil flops back onto the pillows with a pout, but his annoyance had faded moments after Skye’s less than pleasant wake up call. He’s so ready to begin his vacation with the two most important people in his life.

* * *

 

Had Phil taken Skye to Disneyland when she was four or five, he’d probably have booked a nearby hotel for a two-day trip. Younger children tend not to hold on to memories, even ones as magical as Disney, and there wouldn’t have been much point in going all out. But Skye is nine, almost ten now, and she’ll undoubtedly treasure the experience, so after they had confirmed the holiday, he’d made the decision to go all out.

Working as a surgeon at a private hospital meant he had a decent amount of money, and decent is a modest calculation. And he hasn’t really taken a proper vacation in years, so it’s not only for her benefit. Forking out tens of thousands of dollars on an eleven day trip just across the country sounds insane, but it doesn’t put the slightest dent in his wallet, and he’s sure the smile on his little girl’s face will be worth every dime.

He’d had to cut a deal with Melinda however, about who was paying for what - and in the end, all of the flights, hotels and tickets came out his pocket, and any expenses they have there were to be paid for by her.

They’re staying in the Mickey Mouse Penthouse at Disneyland Hotel for the first half of their vacation, and usually one would have to book way in advance, but being friends with Tony Stark definitely has it’s perks, despite how incredibly annoying and obnoxious the man could be. Disney’s Grand Californian Hotel & Spa had sounded alluring, but Phil really wanted the “Disney” experience for Skye - and a little for himself, because it had appeared amazing on the website.

That, and the fact that Tony was a regular at the most expensive rooms on offer at hotels all around the globe - this suite had come with his utmost recommendation. Sure Disneyland is meant for kids and families, but Melinda had pointed out that Tony was just a big kid, so it’s not really that surprising.

Both he and Melinda had agreed on five-day passes to Disneyland, just so they could take things slow and not have to rush through all the rides and attractions, ensuring that Skye would get to see everything she wanted to see.

They’d packed only enough clothes to last them through the eleven days, leaving plenty of space for souvenirs and shopping trips, and with all the enticing merchandise on offer at Disneyland, despite being heavily over-priced, Phil’s sure that they’ll probably fill a suitcase with toys for Skye.

* * *

 

The view from their room is phenomenal, though Skye is quickly distracted by exploring, trying to find all the Mickeys and Minnies decorating the suite. When Phil returns to the general living space, after depositing their luggage into the bedrooms, he finds Melinda standing by the windows, arms crossed, but stance completely relaxed as she takes in the scenery.

She’s unsurprised, just like he expects, as he walks up behind her and wraps both his arms around her waist, resting his chin upon her head. He’s careful not to disturb her hair, which has been pulled back into a high ponytail, and he’s more tempted than ever to explore the smooth expanse of her neck and shoulders, which are exposed thanks to the LA weather.

Melinda is wearing only mini shorts and a tank top, because it’s positive boiling outside, and Phil longs for summer to return if it means she’ll dress this way. Lifting his chin off her head, he leans slightly to the right and bends down, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. After a minute, she swats him away with a gentle hand, squirming out of his grasp with a frown.

“Phil, it’s hot, and I’m all sweaty.”

He shrugs, tilting his head to the side as if to say “Who cares,” and she sighs, heading off towards the bedroom with him on her tail.

“Melinda.”

She’s busying herself packing a bag full of essentials for the day; both their wallets, sunscreen and emergency medical supplies (because what kind of self respecting doctor doesn’t carry around band-aids and painkillers). He stands quietly in the doorway, listening to the sounds of Skye running around and squealing at each new discovery in the background, eyes trained on Melinda who appears to be a little uncomfortable.

He leaves his position by the entrance to the room when she stands, zipping up the backpack, having finished storing away any necessities, dropping it onto the neatly made Mickey Mouse themed sheets, and making her way towards the bathroom.

He stops her with one arm, pulling her back towards him, and pressing their equally sweaty foreheads together. She struggles a little in his grasp, trying to escape, but his arm is locked tightly around her waist as he proceeds to plant his lips on hers, cupping her cheek with his other hand. He fully expects her to shove him away, but despite her annoyance, she winds her arms around his neck and reciprocates, pushing closer into his hold.

It’s he that pulls away after a minute, eyes closed and smiling sappily.

“You smell amazing,” he sighs, opening his eyes to stare into hers and she frowns again.

“I smell like sweat, and I’m all gross and sticky Phil.”

She tries half-heartedly to wiggle out of his grasp again, and it only makes Phil tighten his grip, not letting her.

“I don’t care.”

She raises a brow and gently flicks his cheek, scrunching up her nose as if exposed to a bad smell.

“Fine. You’re all sweaty.”

He puffs out his chest indignantly with a smirk.

“I don’t sweat, I glisten.”

She gives him the classic eye roll, and he can see that she’s amused now, but he’s still a little upset that she isn’t completely comfortable in her own skin.

“You’re beautiful. Always. And I love you.”

With a smile Melinda leans into him, her head resting in the crook of his neck and her hands splayed across his chest.

“I love you too.”

There’s a squeal from the doorway and Skye’s standing there with her hands clasped together, a giant grin plastered on her face, carrying her backpack in both hands. Melinda pulls back from him a little and holds her arm out, welcoming Skye into the embrace.

It feels like they’re a real little family.

Maybe Disney is really magical.

* * *

 

When Melinda sees where Phil is pulling them to, she realises he may have had ulterior motives for deciding to take this trip to Disneyland “for Skye”. In their attempt to “take over the industry” Disney had apparently purchased the company that owned all movie rights to comic book heroes like Thor, Iron Man and Phil’s beloved Captain America - and amongst the princesses and animals, there are shows and exhibitions dedicated to the age old superheroes.

Phil is very much like a little boy as when it comes to Captain America, and Melinda allows him to indulge for just over an hour, watching the shows and exploring the Innoventions exhibit before announcing that they should probably head off and grab some lunch.

They’d grabbed a quick and light breakfast at a bistro by Melinda’s place, before taking a taxi over to the Disneyland hotel, and they’d not even bothered to unpack before heading down to the park, in an attempt to make the most of the rest of the day.

Sitting down amongst all the other families at the Tomorrowland Terrace, Melinda leaves Phil to mind the table while taking Skye over to choose what she wants for lunch. She orders a Angus 1/3lb BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger for Phil and a Portobello & Vegetable Sandwich for herself, before letting Skye go wild with the ordering.

After promising her a Mickey’s Ice Cream Sandwich for later, Skye ponders for a while before deciding she doesn’t want a kids meal, and asks for the same thing as Melinda had chosen. They enjoy their lunch with soda, and Melinda and Phil just hold hands and smile as they watch Skye eating away at her dessert.

They explore beneath the surface with the Finding Nemo Submarine Voyage and Phil gives Skye the camera so she can snap photos of everything that they pass by. Phil as it turns out, dislikes roller coasters just as much as he does horror movies, and he’s definitely the one screaming on Space Mountain and Star Tours. He’s completely embarrassed when Skye asks to buy the photos from the rides, where he looks like he’s completely terrified, and Melinda indulges her.

They head up to Fantasyland, and Phil has planned it out so Skye gets to meet all the characters in the five days that they’re here, in particular, the princesses. As Skye poses for photo after photo, Melinda quickly realises that she really has no interest in meeting the princesses, but is simply humouring her father.

“Dad says that these are magical memories and the only way to cherish them forever is to take photos,” Skye confides when Melinda asks her about it; Phil having wandered off to buy them some water.

He returns with three pairs of mouse ears, two of them with bows, and they’re not the most comfortable things to wear one one’s head, but when both Phil and Skye smile at her after she begrudgingly pulls her pair on, it’s worth the hassle.

They visit more of the attractions, Pinocchio’s Daring Journey, Snow White’s Scary Adventures, Peter Pans Flight, and Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride; some are enjoyable and others are quite mediocre. Because they’re staying almost a week, Phil insists they try everything, and anything they particularly like, they can revisit before they leave.

The Storybook Land Canal Boats ride is amazing, and they all agree to visit this attraction at least once more later on in the week. By the time they’ve finished the Alice in Wonderland ride, it’s getting late and they’re all still a little jetlagged from the flight. They let Skye explore the shops and she picks out a complete Mickey Mouse costume, and a new backpack along with some other small trinkets.

They head back to the hotel room soon after, and Phil instructs Skye to pick a nice dress for dinner, before shooing her off to take a shower. He and Melinda share one, to, you know, conserve water, and make things quicker.

Despite Skye’s ability to do her own hair, she heads into their bedroom, dark curls wet and tangled and a brush in hand, and Melinda immediately follows her back to her bathroom and fixes it all up for her. Softly brushing out the tangles and using the blow dryer on the lowest setting, it takes a little longer than it should, but she doesn’t want to hurt Skye. Once her hair is all dry, Melinda twirls a couple strands from either side together and secures them in place with the bright red bow they had purchased from one of the gift shops today. It matches Skye’s knee-length cherry coloured dress, and once Melinda is satisfied with her work, she has Skye twirl around a few times, before pulling her into a hug. There’s a kind of warmth that spreads through her as Skye’s little arms wrap around her, and she softly presses a kiss to the side of her head, one hand petting the curls they had worked so hard on.

Phil watches them with a smile, the amount of happiness and pride increasing with every second, and when Melinda looks up to meet his gaze, she’s very much the same.

* * *

 

They dine at Steakhouse 55, because it’s one of the many recommendations that Tony had given, and it’s a bit fancy, but Skye is well behaved and acts like a little adult - though she does grin a tad maniacally when Phil pulls out a chair for Melinda.

At first, Melinda is a little concerned because their Kid’s menu is very limited, but Phil assures her that Skye not only acts like an adult, but eats like one too. They hand her the second menu and share several laughs as she picks out the dishes she wants to try.

The Pan-roasted Pork Belly, with Truffle Mascarpone, Green Apple, and Pickled Black Kale, will more than likely deter any other child, and Melinda raises a brow when Skye points to that item. Phil picks the Broiled Kumamoto Oysters with Casino Butter, Pancetta Bacon and Malt Vinegar Emulsion, while she chooses the Smoked Filet Mignon Tartare, with Mustard Aioli, Cage-free Egg Yolk and Shaved Rye Crouton.

They all try the Maine Lobster Bisque, but decide to skip the salad to allow more room for the “main event”. Skye’s picked out  Roasted Garlic and Peppercorn Lamb for herself, Phil choosing the 20 oz Porterhouse Steak and Melinda tossing up between to before eventually deciding on the Slow-roasted Prime Rib.

The food is absolutely fantastic, and they’re almost tempted to order sides, but ultimately make the correct decision in not doing so, because they barely manage to finish what they’ve picked as it is.

Skye announces she needs to use the restroom before they leave, and as mature and independent as she is, he’s not comfortable with letting her go alone in unfamiliar surroundings, but he doesn’t even have to speak up before Melinda offers Skye her hand to take her. Smiling, she hands over her wallet to Phil so he can pay the bill, and he just watches their retreating figures for a moment before a waiter comes over.

“Your daughter looks just like your wife,” the young brunette comments as he counts out the money, mentally adding the tip on in his head.

He’s a little shocked for a moment, and is about to inform the girl that Melinda isn’t his wife, nor is Skye biologically his daughter, but that’s pretty inappropriate information to relay to a total stranger, so he just nods with a smile, and hands her the cash.

He doesn’t mention it when Melinda returns with Skye in tow, but they do have a similar hair and eye colour, although Skye’s is lighter in both respects, however that is where the physical likenesses end.

After Skye brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas, she crawls into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. Phil checks on her twice before shutting the door to her room and meeting Melinda out in the general living area. It’s still pretty early, but their day had been long, and being on call for extended periods of time is nothing compared to chasing after a kid in a theme park, and they’re already so lucky because Skye is so obedient.

They sit by the window and watch the view for a while; it’s even more beautiful by night than day, the colourful lights illuminating the entire park, the fireworks lighting up the sky in a myriad of explosive patterns.

Melinda leaves him to admire the gaze, heading over to grab some drinks, and he wonders if he should go and help her, because she’s taking longer than expected, but then he hears her call out to him softly, and he quickly presses a button to close the curtains, before following the sound of her voice to the bedroom.

The room is completely dark when he enters, and he shuts the door behind him before reaching to flick on the lights. When he does, he is met with a sight that makes him groan low in the back of his throat; Melinda lounging on the bed, legs crossed, clad in only a lacy red bra and matching panties, a silver foil package between two fingers.

They should really get some rest - but it isn’t until almost an hour later that they do, as he almost collapses on top of her, again, and she looks up at him with a sleepy smile. He heads over to the bathroom to clean up, and she’s struggling to stay awake when he returns.

He slides back into bed right beside her, gathering her up in his arms. She mumbles something incoherent against his neck, and he inches back, pulling her up for one last kiss before they both doze off.

Yes. The magic of Disney is most definitely real.


	33. Fade Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil, Melinda and Skye enjoy the rest of their vacation while Steve settles a deal between him and Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Fade Into You by Clare Bowen and Sam Palladio (Nashville)

**Day 213:**

 

_Now, I’ve probably said this before, but I’m not really_  
_someone who should be giving out advice relating to_  
_romance. I figure you should be experienced in that field_  
_to be yammering about the topic - though to be fair - most_  
_people who publish books and articles about romance probably_  
_haven’t the foggiest idea what it’s like in the real world. Speaking_  
_from the little experience that I do have, when two people reach a_  
_point where they’re connected both physically and mentally,_  
_they’re no longer two, but one. It’s almost as if they’ve made an_  
_unspoken deal the become one._  
_“I could just fade into you.”_

 

With a lifestyle like his, Phil is most definitely not accustomed to a lot of time to himself. Between the hospital and Skye, he’s practically been running around non stop for the past ten years, and this vacation is really a new experience. Not that he’s complaining, because waking up to Melinda in his arms is wonderful, and more than he ever thought he could have, after his marriage began to fail, his decision in adopting Skye, and his subsequent divorce from Audrey.

It’s still early from what he can tell, and a slight twist of his neck to view the digital clock sitting on the nightstand confirms that it’s just shy of six in the morning. They’d explored Hollywood Boulevard the previous evening, and had not gotten back to their hotel, the Beverly Hilton - another one of Tony’s recommendations - until close to midnight. He’d had to carry Skye on his back as they made their way from the cab to their suite, a drowsy Melinda clinging to his arm the entire time.

With Skye’s sleeping schedule, she shouldn’t be awake for another two hours at least, and he’s glad for that, because he could do with a little more peace and quiet on the last day of their break. Tomorrow morning they’ll be boarding a flight back to DC, and everything will return to normal - Skye will be back in school and he and Melinda will be back to working crazy hours at the hospital.

Melinda’s face is buried up against his chest, her legs entangled with his, and she’s breathing evenly, in a deep sleep. He really shouldn’t disturb her, but he can’t help it as he runs a hand up and down her bare back, relishing in the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. They haven’t been physically intimate since their first night at Disneyland, having no energy left at the end of the day to do anything other than have a quick shower and go straight to sleep. Nothing happened the previous evening either, but as they prepared for bed, Melinda had muttered something about it being too hot, and proceeded to strip until she was completely nude, before crawling into bed beside him.

He still suspects she was trying to initiate something, but he could barely keep his eyes open as he welcomed her into his arms, and she’d taken the hint and curled up in his embrace. But now he’s fully rested and beginning to feel the slightest bit bored, and it’s a little inconsiderate of him, but he kind of wishes she’ll wake up; just so they can talk, or something. With one hand, he brushes her hair back, revealing the side of her face and her bare arms, and he rises up on his side, lowering his lips to her neck

He nibbles at the skin, before gently sucking a bruise by her jugular, and she begins stirring beneath him, head tilting back unconciously to allow him more access. He rolls her onto her back with one arm and shifts his attentions to her collarbone, nipping softly at her until she buries a hand in his hair, pulling him up so they’re facing one another.

“Hey.”

She’s smiling at him, her eyes bright despite only just awakening, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, nuzzling her neck before whispering a soft “Good Morning”. He showers kiss after kiss upon her; her forehead, the tip of her nose, the edge of her jaw, the point of her chin, all while avoiding her mouth, and she giggles at his ministrations before cheekily shifting and turning her head, causing him to miss her cheek and get the pillow instead.

When she turns back to face him, he’s pouting, and she reaches up, cupping his face with one hand and rising up to kiss him. She pulls away a moment later with a small yawn, pushing herself up and lazily stretching, not unlike a cat, before clambering off the bed.

Phil sticks his bottom lip out once more when she begins pulling her clothes on, and less than a minute later she’s fully dressed, well in a black satin nightie with matching booty shorts. His little frown morphs into a smile as she climbs back into bed, crawling over so she’s straddling his lap. His hands find a familiar perch on her hips, and she loops her arms around his neck, leaning down to rub her cheek against his.

“You and I both know how much you love undressing me.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, and simply tugs on the hem of her nightie to express his agreement.

* * *

 

“Steve, you promised!”

Peggy raises a brow at Bucky and Steve as she approaches the ER nurses station, where both are casually lounging. She’s tempted to tell them off for slacking off on the job, but it is definitely not an exaggeration to say that it’s so not busy down here you could probably stroll around without getting knocked into by an intern.

“To be fair, when I made that promise, I didn’t actually expect to be on the dealing end.”

She coughs into her hand to draw their attention, and Steve looks thoroughly embarrassed and displeased that she’s here to hear this particular conversation, whereas Bucky looks smug and self satisfied, an expression more she’s more accustomed to seeing upon Stark Jr’s face. By her apparent stance, she doesn’t even have to ask the question on her mind - “what on earth is going on here?”, before Bucky formulates a response.

“Steve promised he’d set me up with your friend.”

Peggy shifts her gaze over to her sort-of boyfriend, hands folding across her chest, regarding him with a disapproving glare.

“I swear I didn’t,” he says, voice straining slightly as he throws his hands up in a display of innocence.

Her gaze drifts from Steve, to Bucky and then back to Steve, who she gestures at to follow, before walking down the hallway with purpose, not waiting for him to catch up. She stops when she reaches an on call room, Steve having caught up to her now, and raps her knuckles against the door to check the room for occupants, before turning the handle and opening it, letting him come through before locking it behind her.

“Do you want to explain?”

Steve scratches the back of his head, a motion that generally symbolises either embarrassment, discomfort, or in some instances, this likely being one of them, both.

“When Bucky and I were in middle school, we were both pretty unpopular, and we made a pact before starting high school that whoever has a girlfriend has to set the other up with one of said girlfriend’s friends.”

Such a ridiculous behaviour, yet entirely common for a pair juvenile boys.

“And you know how I was before I enlisted - scrawny, weak, constantly picked on, and Bucky suddenly became popular and stuck by my side and as pathetic as I was, I had a dozen girlfriends in those four years - so he kept up his end of the deal. And I never thought I’d have to - or even have the chance to.”

She reaches up and places a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart beneath her palm, shaking her head. Steve had always been this say, so loyal to his friends, family; so loyal to “the cause”.

She frowns and he immediately sighs, removing her hand from his chest and taking it in both of his.

“I don’t expect anything - Like I said, we never dreamed that there would be a day where I would find Bucky a girl.”

“Bucky already knows all of my female friends at the hospi-” she manages before Steve cuts her off.

“You’re not seriously considering setting Bucky up with one of your friends are you?” he asks, voice and stance possessing an air of incredulousness.

“Well, I’m guessing you two shook on it, and a pact’s a pact.”

He grins as he wraps his arms around her, her tiny frame dwarfed by his height.

“You’re amazing.”

“I know.”

* * *

 

“I can’t believe we ended up buying this much stuff for her.”

Melinda simply rolls her eyes as Phil refolds another one of Skye’s new dresses, attempting to get it into a shape that will fit inside the suitcase. They’ve been packing for almost an hour now, and still half the items - clothes, toys, souvenirs and other trifles and trinkets - lie scattered around the hotel room, the three suitcases they brought with them already full to the brim. They’d picked up another two large suitcases and a duffel bag during their shopping trip today, Phil joking that one would probably go to waste because there is no way they’d be able to fill them up.

As usual, Melinda had been right about them needing the second suitcase, which Phil was now cramming Skye’s new clothes and accessories in to. Skye had packed all her own toys earlier, a majority of them from the stores across Disneyland, souvenirs from Universal Studios and bits and pieces from almost every shop they’ve visited on this trip. Every time Skye had picked up an item with a smile, Melinda had returned the expression and pulled out her credit card.

So now they’re running out of space.

“She’s so well behaved, she deserves to be treated.”

Phil regards Melinda with another sappy smile, and she stops in her folding of one of her own new shirts before leaning over and giving him a quick kiss.

“What was that for?”

She grins, moving closer to him, causing him to drop another of Skye’s new shirts as she crawls into his lap.

“I love you.”

He holds her hips in place, and she cups his face with both hands, pressing another gentle kiss upon his lips with a giggle.

“And I love you, Melinda.”

She anchors her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him with another small giggle, rubbing her cheek against his, wrinkling her nose at the feel of his stubble scratching her skin.

“I know. And you should really shave, you’re starting to look like a caveman.”

He looks aghast at her statement and abruptly stands up, as best as he can with her still hanging on to him, quickly tossing her over his shoulder. They both laugh for real now, as she slaps him on the lower back and butt, calling for him to put her down. Fortunately, most of their things are littering the floor, and he dumps her onto the bed, straddling her legs and holding her arms up and away from his body with one hand.

“Does that make you my woman?”

She rolls her eyes and squirms in his grasp, but his grip, whilst gentle, is also firm, and she’s pretty much stuck. With a smirk that has him worrying for his life, she bucks her hips up against his, drawing out a low groan from Phil, who releases her hands and falls, sandwiching her against the bed, burying his face in her neck and gently biting all the bruises he had created in the morning.

“Phil... we need to pack,” she weakly protests, placing a hand on his shoulder in an effort to softly shove him away as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

“Later. This first.”

She gives in with another sigh, knowing that they’ll probably end up finishing stowing away their things only just before they’ll have to leave for the airport. And if their clothes end up crumpled and wrinkled, and they lose a couple of socks on the way back home, well, it’s not really a concern.

 


	34. How to Save a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get antsy at the hospital when they receive a special visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : How to Save a Life by The Fray

**Day 219:**

_People take drastic measures in life for many reasons;_  
_For money, for personal gain, for love._  
_Doctors, surgeons, in the emergency room, in the_  
_operating room - sometimes they’ll break the rules,_  
_do whatever they can, whatever it takes,_  
_the moment they ponder how to save a life_

There’s something off today.

Something isn’t right.

The first pair of gloves Natasha pulls on for a surgery at six in the morning snap, and twenty minutes later Maria is unable to find her lucky scrub caps. Shortly before seven, the coffee machine in the attending’s lounge stops working, and Tony can’t find some of his patient charts. Steve encounters a similar problem not half an hour later when the patient intake and discharge papers are all messed up, and by his count, it’ll take at least two hours to fix up.

The bulb in Peggy’s desk light fizzes out before eight and she brings her paperwork down to the lounge where Clint is sulking because his favourite mug has gone missing. Lab results are severely delayed, the blood bank is near empty thanks to some mix up, the ORs are full with pre-scheduled surgeries, the ER eerily empty, and the interns seem to have lost any sense of direction, constantly bumping into one another.

The ORs clear, one after another, the surgeons walking out with grim faces and exhausted expressions; Chief of Surgery, Nick Fury, can feel a storm coming on. He’s not too superstitious, but his good eye has been twitching all day, and the last time it did that - well, he doesn’t particularly want to recall that day. He’s trying to remember if there’s anything of significance today, if there’s something he’s forgetting, but honestly, if there is, it’s doing a darn good job of escaping him, because he can’t for the life of him figure out what it is.

But he has a feeling.

Something’s going to happen.

Something big.

He can see things.

* * *

 

There’s something different about today.

Aside from the fact that everyone seems to be having a particularly bad day, there’s something in the air and quite a few of the attendings appear to be exhibiting strange behaviours.

As Melinda sits down beside Phil during down time between rounds, his arm automatically settling around her waist, she glances curiously around the lounge, noticing how oddly some of her coworkers are acting.

Natasha and Clint are a little more touchy feely than usual, but that’s not too odd. Natasha had regaled her with tales of their little trip up to Clint’s parents’, and as usual provided way too many details; but looking at the bigger picture, things appear to be growing more and more serious between the two, and Melinda is more than happy for her former protege. They keep whispering to one another, winks and secret signals that no one else understands, and it’s cute really. Whilst this would probably be the perfect opportunity to annoy her back, Melinda has no intention of doing so, because that’s really not her style.

Tony is moping a little, because Pepper inspected the room for hidden snacks earlier in the morning and had them all removed. Candy bars between the couch cushions, empty juice cartons filled with maltesers, wholegrain organic rice cracker packages with their contents swapped out for barbeque flavoured crisps; and that’s only the beginning. His food stash is a little extreme, as is Pepper’s strict rule about nothing unhealthy, but his medical history speaks for itself - precautions have to be taken.

He’s taking his frustrations out on Thor, who seems most on edge, twitchy and totally uncomfortable in his seat, frequently checking his phone, fists clenched and resting on his thighs. Tony’s jeering something about “Shakespeare in the Park”, which must be some sort of inside joke, because it makes no sense to her.

Bruce is looking especially frazzled today, and that’s slightly disconcerting. To make things worse, Steve appears to be in a rather bad mood, which is odd, because he’s always so happy - scarily so. He keeps glaring over at Tony and Thor, who look as though they’re about to start up a fist fight.

And instead of fighting and arguing, sending death glares to one another from across the hospital, as they usually do, Bobbi and Hunter just seem sullen and depressed, and that alone is enough to disrupt the balance of the universe.

When an intern smashes right into Maria in the hallway, she doesn’t even react, simply rushing off down the hall without a second glance. In the next half hour, several of her colleagues flee one by one, first Tony, who may or may not be going out to threaten interns for junk food, then Bruce, as silent and broody as ever, followed by Steve and Thor who are wearing matching frowns. Clint and Natasha slink off afterwords, and they’re not wearing those secretive smiles that warn one to be clear of any on call rooms for the next hour.

Melinda glances up at Phil, who is holding her loosely against him, running one hand gently up and down her back. He’s smiling knowingly - something is definitely up and he’s probably in on it, but his hand on her back is so comfortable and she doesn’t want to move from this position if she doesn’t have to, so she snuggles a little closer, pressing her face to the crook of his neck, sighing in contentment.

* * *

 

Melinda doesn’t realise she’s fallen asleep against Phil until the sound of his phone ringing rouses her from her dreamless nap. She doesn’t shift, the rate of her breathing as measured as always, even as she tightens her hold on Phil’s scrubs, a small smile forming on her face that she knows he can’t see.

He answers the call quickly, trying not to disturb her slumber, but despite how still she remains, he senses that she’s awake and he resumes his motions over her back and shoulders in an attempt to ease her back to sleep.

“Hey Natasha, could you give me a moment?”

He’s whispering, but it’s no surprise that she can hear him, and he turns, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead as he tries to excuse himself. He laughs silently as she comes as close to a pout as she ever will and shakes her head, tightening her grip on him as he tries to extract himself.

Whilst Natasha’s impatience can be heard from the other end of the hypothetical line, whatever it is she is relaying to Phil can not, and Melinda just watches curiously as he listens, before nodding to himself and telling her “I’ll be there in five.”

He quickly retrieves his coat which is lying beside them, tucking his phone back into the side pocket where it is more often than not housed, and proceeds to stand, most likely heading off to join Natasha, wherever it is she may be hiding out.

“Where are you going?” Melinda asks, one hand tugging on Phil’s wrist, the other reaching up to smooth her hair back out. She knows that he’s headed to see Natasha, and he knows that she knows, so the real question is, why?

He looks conflicted for a moment, as if having an internal debate about whether he should tell her or not, and she isn’t going to make him, because she doesn’t want to appear demanding, despite her curiosity about the matter. Predominantly because of how strangely all of their colleagues had been acting earlier on in the day, and because she can’t figure out why Natasha would call Phil’s mobile for a normal hospital case because the standard procedure is to page.

He appears so unsure of how to proceed that Melinda begins to feel a little sorry for him and releases his hand with a small smile.

“It’s okay Phil, you don’t have to tell me,” she says, patting his arm. It’s probably either something private between the two of them, or less likely, a confidential case that’s “need to know” only. She glances up at the clock on the wall opposite then, and it’s almost twelve in the afternoon, so she has the perfect excuse to let him out of this awkward situation. “I have rounds in ten, so I’ll see you later?”

She rises, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before leaving the room with another small smile, missing the frown that is marring his face as he watches her go.

* * *

 

“It feels like I’m lying to her,” Phil manages to get out, teeth chattering thanks to the never ending gushes of wind out on the hospital rooftop.

He’s standing back with Natasha by the elevator, while Thor is close to the helipad, waiting for the chopper to land. The others, Tony, Bruce, Steve, Clint and Maria are subtly - hopefully- standing guard by the elevator entrances on each floor, waiting for a signal from them to begin the next phase of their plan.

“Well you did say that she withdrew the question,” Natasha responds, shrugging, because she has no problem withholding information from people - whereas the same actions give him an unsettling feeling.

“What if she’s angry at me for keeping secrets?”

Phil is basing this off himself of course, because he’s well aware that Melinda is a secretive person by nature, though he has no idea how she feels being on the other side and kept in the dark. He’s not one for sneaking around, keeping things hidden - he hates lying, hates the secrecy, it makes him feel dishonest and he’s never really dealt well with being kept from the truth. It’s one of his many flaws.

“Mel probably won’t care, but if it bothers you that much, you can just bring her this afternoon.”

Phil grins, metaphorical relief dawning upon him, crossing his arms and tucking his hands between his forearms and body as the wind picks up again, the helicopter beginning it’s descent.

Natasha’s hair is whipping around, red tendrils flying in the air; Thor’s long blonde strands are doing the same as he edges back, trying to avoid the blast from the landing.

“Chopper’s landing. I’ll signal when we’re loaded.”

Natasha’s sending a group voice message to their “accomplices”, because using their pagers on a mission like this would only lead to detection by Chief Fury or even worse, Peggy.

Phil watches with a grimace as the doors slide open and the occupants of the chopper exit one by one, Thor’s trio of close childhood friends, each with giant grins as they greet their buddy, loud roars and jeers as they inspect one another. His frown intensifies as another person emerges, their patient, shoved roughly down the steps of the helipad by Sif, another one of Thor’s oldest companions.

Natasha sighs with an eyeroll, Phil clenching his teeth as the chopper takes off; Thor and his companions head towards them, Thor’s brother, Loki sandwiched between Fandral and Hogun, arms bound behind his back, more than likely by cuffs.

He leers at them as they enter the elevator, a sinister smile plastered on his pasty face as he eyes his companions, and Phil immediately retreats to the corner, as far away as he can get from Thor’s creepy younger brother.

The ride down will probably only take thirty seconds but it might be the longest thirty of his life.

* * *

 

“He what?!”

“He tried to stick me in the chest with a scalpel when I was restraining him, the last time Thor had him brought down for a check up.”

Despite how his smile and joking expression as he speaks, the look on Melinda’s face is one of pure shock and horror as she reaches a hand out, hovering it above where his heart lies beating beneath his rib cage, the other cupping his jaw, thumb stroking gently over his cheek.

“It was only a scratch; didn’t even scar.”

Melinda tilts her head to one side with a frown, looking past Phil and into the basement storage area where a makeshift patient room has been set up for Loki, who is thrashing against the cuffs that Natasha has attached to the bed.

“You are all of you beneath me!”

Thor’s hand clamps down over Loki’s mouth, but it doesn’t silence his brother for long, because seconds later he’s jumping away with a loud yelp, nursing his hand which is now decorated with bright red teeth marks.

Even though Loki clearly has a screw loose, or as Bruce had described it earlier - “that guy’s brain is a bag full of cats”, Melinda still can’t comprehend why they’re giving him a full body check-up in the sub-level basement storage area, and keeping it hidden from the Chief.

Most of the attendings are in on it - Phil had told her when he brought her down here shortly after lunch - Loki had always been ill to some capacity, and despite their misgivings, he was still Thor’s brother, and they would treat him so long as Thor wished it. Steve has been avoiding Peggy all day though - because he’s a notoriously bad liar and would more than likely spill the beans just by seeing her.

The secrecy is only for today though - later on in the evening they’ll sneak him back up to the helipad on the roof where the chopper will pick him, and Thor’s buddies, back up, delivering them to New York, and they’ll board a flight back to Europe.

Less than eight hours and this whole fiasco will be over.

They only have to hide it for that much longer.

It’ll be fine.

* * *

 

“Did you all honestly think you could pull the wool over my eyes?”

It’s close to midnight now, but they’re all gathered in a conference room on one of the upper levels, looking sheepish as Chief Fury lectures them, hands braced up against the table, turning his head and spreading his glare all around.

Tony smirks and they all know what he’s thinking - it’s killing him on the inside because he can’t point out that the Chief only has one eye.

“Fools. All of you.”

To be fair, they’d only had to sneak Loki in and out under his nose because of the incident last year - when he’d had a violent outburst and tried to kill several of the doctors, interns and nurses. Chief had banned him from the hospital, saying he was too dangerous, too nutso, even for the psych ward.

The lecture goes on for another twenty minutes, until he “grows sick” of them, and dismisses the group with more muttering under his breath. They all know he’s not really that angry, because there isn’t any disciplinary action taken against any of them, but Steve does get a smack on the arm from Peggy when they exit.

The “gang” are already making plans for how to sneak around when Thor will have Loki flown in for his next yearly check up, and Chief Fury makes a mental reminder to call Whitehall over at Hydra Holistic Healing Hospital, to see if they’ll take him instead.

 


	35. Only Love Can Hurt Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye goes off on a school camp, it's someone's birthday at the hospital so the men go out for a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Only Love Can Hurt Like This by Paloma Faith

**Day 225:**

_I fell down the steps outside our apartment once_  
_and scraped my knee; it was pretty painful at the time,_  
_but I didn’t cry because my dad scooped me up,_  
_bandaged up my injury and took me out for ice cream._  
_When people around me use the the expression_  
_“only love can hurt like this”, I don’t really understand it;_  
_but I have a feeling that I’ll know how it feels one day._

“Can I have two dutch braids Melinda?”

Melinda pauses in her separating of Skye’s hair into two even sections, as Skye passes her two bright blue hair bands, and she takes them, slipping them onto her wrists as she begins to brush out the tangles.

She’s only really ever practiced on her dolls from when she was a kid, and her father insisted that little girls played with dolls whereas her mother constantly argued with him that Melinda “was not a little girl” and that if she wanted to be successful in her future, she wouldn’t spend her days fooling around with toys.

After she weaves the strands together, she ties them off with Skye’s bright blue bands, and gives both braids a light tug to make sure they’re even, before squeezing Skye gently on the shoulders to let her know her hair is done.

“Thank you Melinda.”

She’s still unused to the feeling of the two skinny little arms wrapped around her neck and shoulders, Skye’s cheek brushing against her own as the girl giggles, evidently pleased with her efforts; but it doesn’t mean she’s uncomfortable with returning her embrace.

Satisfied that she’s adeptly expressed her gratitude towards Melinda for assisting with her hair, Skye bounds off to her room to finish organizing her backpack for her school trip. With Skye occupied for the next five or ten minutes before she needs to be dropped off, Melinda wanders into the kitchen where she knows Phil has been for the past twenty minutes, preparing appropriate snacks for Skye to enjoy on the long bus journey.

He’s filling three small, clear plastic boxes with various snacks:

The first is a health freak’s haven; a selection of vegetables sliced into thin sticks - celery, carrots, bell peppers of red, green and yellow, topped with shredded red onion. A small round container sits in the centre, filled with a two-toned, orange and yellow, dip.

The second is a make your own sandwich kit, separated into four compartments. In the first are slices of bread cut down into small squares, size equal to the salted crackers they sat beside. The next quadrant contains alternating grilled zucchini and chicken slices, cooked the night before and chilled in the refrigerator. There are several rounds of lettuce, carefully cut out with either a cookie cutter, stencil, or scarily impressive knife skills, and a handful of ripe red cherry tomatoes. The last section contains another small round container wedged, filled with mayonnaise, accompanied by several small, but thick, slices of cheese, more than likely from the same block of cheddar Phil had grated for their pasta two evenings ago.

The third is evidently the dessert course, and Melinda seriously wonders whether Skye will be even able to finish a single portion of Phil’s “travel snacks”, because he’s gone a little overboard. She wonders how long he must have stayed up the previous evening to prepare the mini strawberries and cream cupcakes, double chocolate chip cookies, and fudgy brownies, and shakes her head silently as he carefully caps the colourful lids onto each box, stacking them one on top of another before placing them in a specially designed carrier.

“I’m pretty sure the permission note said that food will be provided for on the trip,” she teases as he zips up the carrier, placing it beside the large blue bottle filled with juice.

“I know. But..” he trails off and she rolls her eyes as she leans her elbows against the counter, watching him clean up.

He’s going to miss her; the trip is only for three days, but already last week Phil had been panicking about Skye being away from home for so long. Sure, his job keeps him busy and there are days where he sees her only briefly in the morning or arrives home just in time to tuck her into bed, but he’s still there and now he won’t be, for three whole days. She’s about to console him when Skye bounds into the kitchen, backpack all strapped up and dragging her brand new Mickey Mouse suitcase behind her.

“Dad, we have to leave or we’ll be late.”

Melinda laughs as Skye rushes her father around, letting him pack her lunch bag and drink bottle into her backpack before impatiently tugging him towards the front door. Melinda only manages to get in a quick, “Have fun” before Skye’s dragging Phil out the door.

With another shake of her head, Melinda proceeds clean up the clutter Phil had left in the sink, a chopping board, several plates and knives. It only takes a couple minutes, and then she’s setting the board up on a rack to dry and loading the plates and utensils into the dishwasher.

It’s still very early in the morning; Steve had given her a lift from the hospital after a night shift, and she has the next day and a half off, as does Phil and she’s very much looking forward to spending time with him, just the two of them.

She assumes that he hasn’t had breakfast yet, too busy fussing over Skye and her trip, and she’s definitely hungry from working the previous evening, so she snoops around in his pantries and shelves, rummaging around in his fridge for ingredients to whip them up a quick and easy morning meal.

After two more rounds digging through the shelves, she decides on a fresh batch of ricotta hotcakes, paired with scrambled eggs, honeyed ham, and a mesclun lettuce mix dressed with a tangy vinaigrette on the side. She brews a mug of coffee for Phil with his fancy machine, and fixes herself up with a glass of lemon water, because Phil doesn’t have any tea.

She’s dishing up the last of hotcakes when the sound of keys turning in the lock signal Phil’s return, and she shuts off the stove before setting the pan and egg flip into the sink, grabbing the bottle of detergent and a sponge, beginning to clean off the oily kitchen implements. She’s half-way through scrubbing the teflon coated pan when a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist and Phil’s front is pressed against her back as he brushes her hair to one side and proceeds to pepper kisses along the line of her neck.

“Phil..” she groans as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot, one that is already marred with a fading bruise from four days back, and he chuckles against her skin.

“Leave the dishes. We’ll get to them later.”

His hand leaves her waist to turn up the water pressure, filling up the sink with soapy liquid before turning it off. He pulls her back over to the island and they exchange kisses between bites of their meal, Phil complimenting Melinda’s cooking again and again, and she rolls her eyes at him even as they laugh and converse.

They end up unceremoniously dumping their empty dishes into the sink before racing to his bedroom, stripping off their clothing as they go. She’s down to her underwear by the time he has her pinned to the freshly made bedcovers, and she can’t imagine a better way to start - or in her case, end the day.

* * *

 

“Любимый.”

Clint looks bashfully to his hands as Natasha greets him, with more affection than in the past, their relationship developing with every passing day. Tony is regarding him with a shit-eating grin, and Natasha is glad Clint can’t see the expression, because she’s not in the mood to break up a fist fight between two grown men.

She’s carrying his birthday present under one arm, and it’s large and a factor for clumsiness in the carefully padded box designed to protect the contents - she may or may not have accidentally bumped into one or two, or a few, of the interns, on her way down the hall.

“Happy Birthday.”

He’s almost blushing as she hands over his gift, embarrassed that she’s choosing to make a public spectacle out of this - she could very well have presented it to him the previous evening, but instead she’s chosen to do so during lunch time, in front of a majority of their colleagues.

It’s not as if the other attendings don’t know that it’s his birthday - in fact Tony has already organised for the guys to spend an evening at a local bar, getting drunk and doing guy things together. Of course, that means most of the girls are working to cover their shifts but it’s for a special occasion, so it’s really not a problem.

“Come on, open it.”

She’s regarding him with a grin, and all their friends sitting around the table are cheering him on with wide smiles and cheerful expressions - though in the case of Bobbi and Lance’s, they seem rather forced.

He carefully tears away the wrapping, black and purple diagonal stripes - an odd choice, but Natasha’s always been pretty quirky; revealing a large metal case, the silver surface warping their reflections. He undoes both clasps securing the lid to the base, and slowly lifts the lid, breaking into a smile as he examines the contents.

It’s an expertly handcrafted bow, built from many pieces with a sharp modern edge to it. Growing up on a farm, archery was one of a few things he had at hand for entertainment, and he’d mentioned this to Natasha only a few times in passing, the latest being their visit up to the farm when he’d strung up his old bow and gone a couple rounds in the field. He admires the bow, still strapped in the case, fingertips ghosting over the surface, not wanting to remove it from the protection that the layers of velvet, foam and metal provide.

After another lingering glance, he closes the lid, securing the buckles, letting the case rest on his lap before turning to his right and pulling Natasha over for a brief kiss. When they pull apart, there are wolf whistles from Tony who also happens to be shouting out some words and phrases much too inappropriate for the hospital cafeteria.

Peggy and Steve are smiling happily at them, well as much as Peggy can smile with her mouth full of buttermilk scones, and Steve laughs as he brushes off crumbs from the corner of her mouth; Natasha cheers triumphantly in her mind at how well her schemes worked out. But as she casts a quick glance over at Bobbi, who looks quite unhappy, keeping to herself, she frowns, subtly shifting her gaze to Hunter, who appears equally tense, the cogs in her mind turning once more.

Time for a new pet project.

* * *

 

The “manly men” of the hospital are down at the bar, and Tony had extended an invitation to all male co-workers, so despite working at Shield Memorial for years, Clint doesn’t even recognise half the guys who are turning up, clapping him on the back as if they’re the best of friends and wishing him a happy birthday.

Tony’s entertaining the crowd with endless drunken chatter - and as much as a lot of people hate his smug demeanour, he’s a very “giving” guy, and it’s almost impossible to truly hate the man. Plus, all drinks are being paid for by his credit card so “all hail King Tony” it is.

Clint is sitting in a back corner booth with Phil, Steve, and Lance, who has been so moody and depressed these past few weeks it’s almost unbearable. So Clint just has to know what on earth is wrong with him. But a very tipsy Tony beats him to the punch, dropping down onto the edge of the booth and slinging an arm around Lance’s shoulders.

“Fuck is wrong with you man? Haven’t touched any drinks all night - wasting my bloody money.”

Clint, Phil and Steve all sit back in their seats, ready for the second brawl of the evening to begin, but Lance just looks dejectedly down at his beer and picks it up, giving it a quick glug before dropping the bottle back down onto the tabletop with a loud sigh.

“I slept with her.”

Clint raises a brow as he glances over to Phil, and then Steve, who all shrug, making expressions of distinct confusion.

“Who?”

Clint shoots Steve a look, almost wanting to roll his eyes at how awful the guy is in social situations - he’s a real nice bloke, with terrible people skills and bad timing.

“Who the hell do you think?”

He drains almost half of his beer after speaking, looking even more conflicted than before, and his behaviour is truly puzzling them all. Lance’s relationship with his ex-wife is full of turmoil - it always has been, so that doesn’t come as a surprise to any of them - but they’re used to a boastful Lance following hook-ups and an angry Lance following break-ups.

A sad Lance comes once in a blue moon and Phil swears the last time they saw him this distraught was after the death of their good friend, Isabelle, during their intern year, so none of them really know how to process their friend’s current behaviour, much less help him.

“I fail to see the problem,” Clint says after another pause, because he genuinely does and can think of nothing else to say in this situation.

“I think I’m still in love with her.”

Well.

That explains it.

 


	36. Perfect Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some feels, Melinda sneaks around to help a friend and the men have some quality bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Perfect Two by Auburn

**Day 235:**

_Peanut butter and Jelly, Strawberries and Cream_  
_Everything in the world has one thing it is incomparable_  
_to when paired with. The perfect two when together._  
_Two best friends, sisters, brothers, cousins, strangers._  
_Lovers._

February marks flu season in their area of the world, but they’re prepared this time around. All the hospital staff, from the board members up in administration to the temp workers that come in to check the pipes, have been carefully vaccinated, and the only people walking around being sick are the actual patients.

The people who have come and gone through the hospital for various illnesses and small pains have tripled in the past week, and it’s putting all the staff on edge, especially Steve, who is down in the ER almost all day, every day.

“It’s only a mild fever. We’ll prescribe some antibiotics, and make sure she gets plenty of fluids.”

Melinda watches from across the room as Phil converses with a little girl’s father, soothing his worries and fears that his child might be dreadfully ill. He’s explaining the procedures of how to care for her during this time, before smiling at the little girl and reaching into his pocket to give her a sticker, which makes the child very happy, despite how sick she appears.

When he’s completely satisfied with the prescriptions and everything there is to do, he bids the pair goodbye and turns, another chart in his hands, ready to continue on with his work. Melinda walks quietly up to him and giggles when he jumps at the feeling of her hand suddenly grabbing his arm.

“Hey.”

He grins at the sound of her voice, his arm slipping around her waist and pulling her closer to to him, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“Watching me work again?”

They switch to holding hands as they turn out of the ER and begin down the hallway, smiling and nodding to familiar faces as they pass by. He guides her into the empty attending’s lounge with a gentle hand on her back, and fetches a bottle of chilled water from the fridge for them to share before they sit down on the couch together.

“You’re so good with kids,” she comments, recalling all the instances that she’s seen him interact with patients, from screaming newborns to rambunctious teens.

“I’m a pediatric surgeon, I have to be. Plus, I’ve had plenty of practice with Skye.”

She rolls her eyes at his nonchalance regarding her compliment, letting out a soft sigh at his words. From what she reads of his actions, being a father is clearly his greatest accomplishment, and not a hardship for him. It’s one of the many things she has grown to admire about him in the time they’ve known one another.

“And you make it sound like you’re terrible with children.”

She hasn’t exactly had the best track record where children are concerned, but that is not something she is particularly comfortable speaking about with Phil, not here, not yet.

“Skye adores you. She’s never really had a…” he lets the words trail off as he realises what he was about to say, but by the way Melinda tenses beside him, it appears they need a change in topic of conversation. Before he can do something stupid and talk about the weather, there’s a knock on the door, and they both look up to find Skye and Jemma standing in the doorway.

Phil holds out his arms for Skye as she runs into the room; making a beeline for her father and giving him a big hug before turning to Melinda and doing the same. They move apart on the couch to allow enough room for Skye to wedge herself in between them.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” he asks fondly, brushing a hand through her tangled curls, hastily pulled into a messy ponytail this morning because they were running just a little late; Skye hadn’t dried it properly after washing it the evening before, and it was simply impossible to manage otherwise.

“Jemma’s visiting her boyfriend,” Skye informs them in a conspirative not-quite whisper, accompanied by a giggle, making her poor, unfortunate babysitter cough and splutter, face flushing a vibrant shade of red.

“N-no sir, Skye is simply mistaken. Fitz isn’t my boyfriend. I’m just bringing him lunch. His favourite sandwich. Prosciutto and Buffalo Mozzarella with just a hint of Pesto Aioli,” she says, stepping into the room, brown paper bag clutched tightly with both hands.

Phil and Melinda both raise a brow at Jemma as Skye continues to laugh at the expense of her, until there is another knock at the door and Peggy is there in her scrubs, hair pulled back in a ponytail and an empty water bottle in hand.

Jemma just gapes, looks at the ground, then at Skye, and then back to Peggy, before running from the room.

Melinda turns to Phil, poised to ask the obvious question, but his explanation beats her to it.

“Jemma is a big fan of Peggy’s work,” he begins with a laugh, before Peggy interrupts to add on to the story.

“And she kind of told me that repeatedly at Phil’s New Year’s Party. We hadn’t had the chance to meet before, but she’s a sweet girl.”

They all laugh, except Skye, who is thoroughly distracted by her game on Phil’s phone which she must have pulled from his pocket at some point. It’s scary because he didn’t even feel it when she did.

Either, he really is getting old and complacent, not even noticing people stealing his things or Skye has the hands of a future surgeon.

Or a pick-pocketer.

He really hopes for the former.

* * *

 

Melinda walks slowly and cautiously towards the exam room at the end of the hallway. The shutters are closed, but even so she can the lights are switched off, and when she tries the door handle, it doesn’t budge.

She pulls out her phone once more to check that she read the room number on the text message correctly, and once she is satisfied that she isn’t wrong, she raps her knuckles against the wooden door, almost wanting to do the cliche and press her ear against up against it. Upon receiving no audible response, at least one she can hear from a safe distance away, she does the next logical thing and sends a message back, waiting for either a response to come through, or the door to unlock.

She waits for a few moments longer, and is this close to leaving, when the sound of a lock turning and door sliding open just a sliver has her stopping in her tracks.

Bobbi is peering out from the crack between the door and the frame and Melinda is about to voice her concern about her friend’s appearance when the gap widens and she is pulled into the room by her arm, the door quickly being shut and once again locked behind her.

“What is going on here?”

She flicks on the lights and turns to find Bobbi sitting silently sitting on the edge of the examination table, hands wringing the front of her scrub shirt, eyes red and puffy, tears trailing down her cheeks.

Melinda has never really been great at comforting people, though she’s definitely improved since coming to Shield Memorial and opening herself up to friends, to Phil. She’s not sure how she should really proceed in this situation so she goes for a hug and is relieved to know she’s made the right choice as Bobbi sags against her, crying into her dark blue scrubs, spots, almost black, marring the fabric, marking the places where her tears are falling.

Melinda raises one hand and gently rubs a spot just beneath her friend’s shoulder, whispering for her to let it all out. Her eyes scan the room and she sees the line of small rectangular boxes assembled side by side on the bench top, each with a little white stick sitting on top, and she knows why Bobbi is acting this way.

The crying lasts another ten minutes, until no more tears escape, and Bobbi pulls away, once again silent. Melinda leaves her side walking over to the bench and carefully inspecting each of the tests, checking the corresponding boxes for the signs and symbols. They’re all from different companies, different brands, though not at all unfamiliar, and Melinda suspects that Bobbi smuggled them from OB, because they are all brands carried by the hospital.

A smiley face, plus sign, two lines; they’re all positive.

“I need you to give me a test. To make sure,” Bobbi says quietly.

“Off the record I assume?”

Bobbi nods shakily and Melinda grabs a pair of gloves from the draw, pulling them on with a soft snap.

“How far along do you think you are?” she asks quietly as she grabs the necessary equipment to do a blood draw. She’s about to add that it’s alright if she doesn’t know, but by Bobbi’s reaction to the question, it’s evident she does.

“Five weeks…”

She grows silent once again, and Melinda doesn’t ask any further questions, simply withdrawing a syringe from the opened kit beside her and gesturing for Bobbi to lie back on the table.

As she sees Bobbi visibly shaking, Melinda realises that this might take a while.

* * *

 

“I need a rush on these test results. Push them to the front of the queue.”

Melinda’s tone is dead serious as she hands the unlabeled sample over to the lab tech whose name she can barely recall.

“Don’t bother doing the full work up, I only need to see the hCG levels. How soon can you have it done by?”

Clearly, the gangly young tech can tell how serious the situation is and nods quickly, with a quiet “I’ll do it for you right away, Dr. May.” before he scurries off.

“Jumping the queue are we?”

Melinda isn’t easily surprised, but she almost shows a visible reaction when she realises Trip is standing right behind her. She responds nonverbally first, just tracing the word Bobbi onto the counter in front of her, before narrowing her eyes with a soft but clear “Not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?”

He nods immediately, miming the motion of zipping up his lips and throwing away the key, clearly having a sense of humour despite the gravity of the situation. She doesn’t know him all that well, but Trip is an honest guy, he can keep a secret, and she feels as though she can trust him.

This hospital seems to be notorious for gossip however, but she’s going to try her best to keep this from spreading.

Some things are private for a reason.

* * *

 

Phil’s not sure he’s been in a stranger situation his whole life. That’s probably a lie, definitely a lie, but this certainly makes the list. Ten grown men surrounding a tiny round coffee table, a simple silver band sitting in the centre, resting upon black velvet.

“She gave you the ring back?” Bruce asks, surprise evident in his voice.

“Not exactly. She dropped it down the drain. On purpose of course. Took me hours to fish it back up,” Lance admits, scratching the back of his head in a motion more familiarly seen done by Steve.

“And you want to propose again using a ring she knows went down a drain? How romantic,” Tony says with disdain, eyeing the plain silver ring in an overly judgemental fashion.

“It’s sentimental. Has meaning. I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” Steve says, and it’s predictable coming from him, because he’s a really old fashioned guy.

“It’s been down a drain. Would you want to wear that thing on your finger every day?” Clint chimes in, pretending to hold his nose despite the fact that there’s no smell.

“I’ve cleaned it you know,” Lance exclaims in offense, glaring at his companions, grabbing the box and inspecting the ring once more.

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t give her this one. I’m saying if you’re going to propose again, you need a new ring,” Tony defends himself, sounding quite surprisingly reasonable, before letting his mouth take over. “Plus, out of the people in this room who is happily married? Oh wait. Just me.”

He receives glares from all of them, before shrugging his shoulders and popping another berry from his fruit salad snack bag, courtesy of his dear wife Pepper, into his mouth.

“Bobbi isn’t materialistic, she won’t care if the ring is old or new. But the whole down the drain situation does put a damper on things,” Phil supplies, craning his neck to stare at the box which Lance has set back onto the table.

“You need a new ring. Preferably with diamonds. Big diamonds.”

“I’m with Stark on this one. You need to up your game man,” Trip adds, and he’s smiling a little knowingly which makes Phil slightly suspicious, but he’s not going to ask.

They all watch as Lance runs a finger over the old ring, as plain and simple as they come, but Lance was a foreigner doing his residency at Shield when he and Bobbi first were married, and this was all he could afford.

He can give her more now, not just financially. He’s grown up, they’ve been through so much together, and he wants to go through more, through the rest of his life, with her.

He wants a second chance.

To be a better husband.

* * *

 

“You’re pregnant. Five weeks along, but you already knew that,” Melinda announces to Bobbi after she’s safely inside the room, door locked securely.

The super spy mission blood test is only a confirmation to what Bobbi must have already known. Yes, pregnancy tests weren’t always accurate, but thirteen positive ones must have given her a pretty clear picture as to whether or not she should be expecting in regards to the results.

Melinda hands the lab results to her silently, because she’s not some OB resident ready to happily congratulate every woman that receives positive pregnancy test results.

That one word can sound like a curse more than a blessing.

“It’s Lance’s isn’t it?” she asks instead, and when Bobbi nods, it only confirms her suspicions.

Melinda is tempted to ask her if she’s going to tell him, if she’s made any decisions as to what she’s going to do, but chooses to simply nod once more, patting her friend gently on the hand, before leaving the room without another word.

What she needs now isn’t people badgering her, it’s peace, it’s quiet, it’s time.

She needs it while it lasts.


	37. I Want You Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day at Shield Memorial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : I Want You Back by Jackson 5 (Glee Cast Version)

**Day 243:**

_Remember when you were seven, and you had a whole lot of toys.  
L_ _ike a stuffed frog named Froggy and you kind of stopped playing with it._  
_And then your parents decided that they should probably donate it,_  
_making you realise how much you didn’t want to share it. This isn’t_  
_really the same thing. It’s often that you don’t realise how much something,_  
_someone, means to you, until you don’t have them anymore. And sometimes,_  
_if you’re lucky, it’s not too late to say “I Want You Back”._

Melinda has never particularly enjoyed Valentine’s Day - it’s a pointless holiday designed by confectionary companies and florists to make money off people, but she can’t deny the warm fuzzy feeling she has when Phil shows up at her apartment on Valentine’s Day morning to drive her to work, with an overly cliche bouquet of red roses and a heart-shaped box of ridiculously overpriced chocolate in his hands.

She accepts them with a wide smile and thanks him profusely; a ten minute make-out session against her front door is all they have time for, but hey, it’s better than nothing. Her next door neighbour, a little old lady who she’s still never learnt the name of, on account of seeing her maybe three times in all the months she’s lived here, smiles knowingly at them and mutters something about young love as they pass by.

The bouquets are abundant on the journey to the hospital, and even more prominent when they enter the place. Someone, hopefully with permission from the higher-ups, has decorated the place for Valentine’s day, complete with hearts, large and small, in a hundred different shades of red and pink, streamers lining the walls and balloons in every corner.

It’s probably the work of Trip. It’s really his style.

How he managed to cover the entire hospital in pink, well, that’s something of a mystery.

Phil leaves Melinda with another kiss and a sappy “I love you”, as he goes off to round on his patients, and she really can’t believe how lucky she is to be with him. She doesn’t deserve him, but she won’t say that to his face, because she knows he’ll only try to change her mind about it.

She’s seriously considering extending her stay after her contract finishes again, maybe even permanently. The more realistic side of her is yelling for her to consider things carefully before making such a big step, but the small part of her mind that still dreams can imagine a future with Phil. But she’s going too far with her thoughts; one day at a time.

It’s a good mantra to have.

So, she allows her thoughts to extend to the evening ahead - they’re spending a quiet night in at her apartment, while all the singles who are free are crashing at Phil’s to have a movie - more likely poker - night, with Skye.

Melinda went shopping for fresh ingredients yesterday during her time off, knowing that being on call today meant no time for that, and there’s nothing she really wants more than to just have a nice meal with Phil.

Accompanied by nice wine, just a little bit.

And some nice… bedroom activities.

Shaking her head to clear the inappropriate thoughts, she turns in to the attending’s lounge and makes a beeline for the fridge, knowing that Steve did a juice restock yesterday. Sure enough, she finds bottles of orange, apple and grape juice sitting on the bottom shelf, and she ponders for a brief moment before grabbing the grape. She twists the metal cap on the bottle until it releases with a soft hiss, stepping back from the fridge to allow the door to fall closed as she does so.

It’s pretty quiet in here this morning, which is a little odd considering the room is hardly empty. Natasha and Clint are silently communicating again, a bouquet of purple roses sitting on her lap. Maria is tapping around on her phone next to Bobbi, who looks particularly awful this morning, face pale, covered in a sheen of sweat as she sips slowly from a bottle of apple juice.

Melinda meets Bobbi’s gaze and subtly tilts her head to the side, silently asking her how she is feeling, because from the apparent actions and expressions of their friends and coworkers - the cat isn’t out of the bag, so to speak, yet.

Bobbi just nods slightly in response, and Melinda smiles, just briefly, as she takes a seat in the armchair at the long end of the coffee table. Not much conversation is made for another ten minutes, until Peggy enters the room, looking positively green and almost swaying as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and sinks down into the seat opposite Melinda.

“Peggy, you look awful,” Maria says, looking across at her in concern.

Melinda studies her friend who is almost visibly shuddering, hands shaking as she uncaps the bottle and takes a careful gulp of water. She knows for a fact that Peggy has been vaccinated, so it shouldn’t be the flu; and she’s not displaying any other symptoms of illness either.

“I spent the entire morning looking down the toilet. I’d throw up again, but I don’t think there’s anything left in me,” she says, face in her hands.

Melinda casts Bobbi another sly glance and finds her friend looks even worse than she did earlier, Peggy’s talk of being sick spurring her to have a similar feeling.

“Jeez Peggy, maybe you should get yourself checked out. Sounds like you could be pregnant.”

Natasha elbows Clint sharply in the ribs for his lack of tact, because one does not simply go around saying things like that. Bobbi looks incredibly tense, but relieved that they’re focusing on Peggy and not her, and Melinda is confident that if this were a television drama, most people would find a scenario like this amusing.

“I have food poisoning you oaf. I guess that’s what I get for letting Steve cook.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be-” Clint starts until Natasha kicks him in the leg, slapping him hard on the arm with a furious glare, and he wisely excuses himself before he gets battered to a pulp.

“Steve is worse off. He’s in bed with a bucket next to him; poor thing,” she says sympathetically, despite the fact he was the one who caused both them both to be ill.

“Plus, he and I haven’t” - she gestures a little wildly with her hands, trying to make the point - “you know, so there’s no way that’s happened,” she finishes, because she hates misunderstandings and has no intention of letting inappropriate, not to mention, untrue, rumours fly around.

This causes all of them, even Bobbi, who looks slightly less sick now, to raise a brow at Peggy, who just shrugs with a small smile.

“Steve is traditional, he wants to wait.”

And that doesn’t surprise any of them.

* * *

 

“Are you feeling any better?” Melinda asks Bobbi as she dabs her forehead with a dampened towel.

“Yeah. Thank you for all of this.”

Bobbi smiles as Melinda gently leads her out of the restroom. They’re barely two steps down the hall when an unfamiliar intern runs up to them and hands Bobbi a single rose, drawing out curious glances from both women and other hospital staff.

As they head slowly down the hall, Bobbi is handed at least a dozen more roses by nameless interns, nurses and techs, all blood red, wrapped in clear plastic decorated with white and pink hearts.

Melinda slows down and stands back as they reach the hospital foyer, which looks like it’s been thrown up on by cupid. Trip’s decorating from earlier on is still there, but now there are even more balloons, hearts and nurses in pink scrubs holding bouquets of roses in their arms, lined up against the walls.

Bobbi sets the anonymous roses down on a counter as she continues slowly heading out into the foyer, where a group of residents and interns are assembled, pausing only when music begins echoing out from the speakers generally used for emergency announcements. As she familiar tune of Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back” begins playing, the assembled residents beginning some sort of dance number. The choreography is cheesy, and she can imagine that even a tiny dancing tree would have more groove than this.

The people passing by who clearly have no idea what is going on pause to watch, fellow doctors and patients, their family members too; the dancers beginning to surround Bobbi as they move forward.

When the song comes to close, Lance walks out from behind the nurses bearing roses, dressed to the nines in a brand new suit. When he reaches the spot where Bobbi is standing, he drops down onto one knee, pulling out a red velvet box, opening it up on the palm of his hand, revealing a ring, the band encrusted with diamonds, a larger rock sitting in the centre, perfectly cut.

“I’m not very good with words, but Bob, I want you to know, I want you back. So, will you marry me? Again?”

He stands, offering her a smile as he holds the ring out, onlookers cheering for him. There are shouts of “Say yes” and squeals from many of the women in the crowd, but the reaction his ex-wife has to this second marriage proposal is a negative one.

She’s not happy about it. Upset even. And he’s so confused; until she begins speaking.

“Is all of this because I’m pregnant?” she whispers, almost angrily, tears beginning to well up in her eyes as she prods his chest with a pointed finger.

“Wha-”

His eyes widen as she speaks, slowly edging backwards as she pushes forward.

“I am perfectly capable of raising our baby by myself. I don’t need you feeling like you have some sort of duty to marry me again.”

“Bobbi, I-”

“How did you even find out?”

She’s louder now, as she turns to look at Melinda, who shakes her head and waves her hands in a motion that makes it clear she didn’t say anything. She turns back to him, fists clenched in preparation to continue questioning him, but she doesn’t get the chance as he closes the box and sticks it back into his pocket, arms reaching out to hold her, one hand gently caressing her tear stained cheek.

“You’re pregnant?”

Those two words definitely come out as a question, and she freezes, almost regretting her outburst, feeling the curious stares from the crowd raining down upon her.

“I..I thought that you knew.”

The arm around her waist tightens a little, pulling her closer as he stares into her eyes, and she’s grateful that the flats on her feet put them at the same height.

“I’m asking you to marry me again because I love you. I never stopped.”

She almost bursts into tears at his revelation; clearly it’s the hormones getting to her because she’s never usually this emotional. She wraps both arms around his neck and almost sags against him in relief.

“So, are you going to give me an answer or what?”

She manages a small laugh as she gently swats him on the chest, nodding softly into his shoulder.

“She said yes!” he announces triumphantly, and loud applause breaks out through the entire hospital foyer and general vicinity, cheers ringing around as he retrieves the ring from it’s box in his pocket and slips it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

A perfect fit.

She looks to him in surprise as he reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a golden chain, a familiar silver band hanging from the links, and another tear escapes as she recognises it.

“I know it’s been down a drain, but I had it cleaned, and I thought you might like it back,” he explains, and when she nods, he carefully brushes her golden locks to one side, securing it around her neck.

“I love you,” he says, planting a gentle kiss on her lips before gingerly reaching a hand out to her still flat abdomen, eyes lighting up in joy when her fingers interlace with his, resting over their unborn child.

“I know.”

* * *

 

Melinda is essentially flurrying around the kitchen, hands moving at a million miles a minute, trying to finish up with dinner before Phil arrives. Peggy had dropped her off about an hour ago, both leaving work earlier than usual, Melinda having to prepare dinner and Peggy wanting to go check on Steve, who Melinda last heard was still quite violently sick.

She’s sure this romantic dinner won’t make or break their relationship if she completely screws it up, but she wants to make him a nice home cooked meal, because that’s what couples do, and they’re a couple. Plus, it’s almost always Phil that does the gourmet cooking; sleepovers at her place means either a large pizza or take-out, so she wants to change things up a little tonight.

Not purely because of the occasion, but because it’s something she wants to do.

It’s not that she can’t cook, because she can… sort of, and she fed herself very adequately after moving out. But residency didn’t leave much time for daily or even weekly grocery shopping, nor did it put you in a state of mind to physically cook each day. So she grew quite acquainted with the fast food joints within a one mile radius of her apartment, only sparing the occasional day off to do something a little more dramatic with her dinner. Oh, and there were the days that Peggy came and visited, after she moved permanently from the UK to DC - so, special occasions.

So, she might be going a little overboard with the dinner. And she’s being as careful and precise as she can because she really doesn’t want to do to Phil what Steve did to Peggy earlier in the day.

There’s a medium sized pot of mash, with butter, a splash of milk and a pinch of salt and pepper keeping warm in the microwave, which up until this point, she’s really only ever used to reheat cold pizza.

She places a tray lined with lightly seasoned cauliflower slices on the second level of the oven, segments of butternut squash pumpkin roasting on the first, drizzled with honey and other spices.

Dessert is thankfully already done, a triple layer chocolate mousse, white, milk and dark swirled together into two fancy glass containers she dug out of the cabinets earlier. It’s not as fancy as she wishes she could make it, because Phil really is the whiz with desserts and decorating, but she’s trying her best and it looks kind of edible and not completely disgusting so that’s all that really matters.

The salad is done, a mix of different leafy greens, thinly sliced red onion with three shades of bell peppers, and heirloom tomatoes dressed in a light lemon vinaigrette, topped with finely chopped pine nuts and the seeds from half a pomegranate.

She has the steaks resting on a chopping board, generously seasoned with black pepper, beside a bowl of sliced mushrooms, which are for the gravy. The menu is a little ambitious, and she hopes it isn’t a total disaster.

When the oven timer emits a series of loud beeps, she turns it off, opening the door a crack as to not continue steaming the vegetables inside. If everything is going according to plan, she has about five minutes before Phil is due to arrive, so she double checks that everything is switched off, nothing hazardous lying around, before rushing off into her bedroom to change into something a little more presentable than an old t-shirt and leggings.

Sure enough, five minutes later, after she’s traded her comfortable clothing for a sleeveless, knee length emerald dress, one of her many purchases on their holiday, the doorbell rings and she almost runs to answer it.

“You’re beautiful,” is the first phrase that escapes Phil as she lets him in, and they’re wrapped up in one another for more than just a moment, until she pushes him away lightly, softly, but surely saying “dinner first”.

He follows her to the kitchen and appears thoroughly stunned at the selection of sides she is preparing for the evening. He watches silently as she heats up the grill pan, searing the steak for several minutes on each side, removing them onto two separate white porcelain plates. She can feel his gaze on the back of her head as she finishes up with the gravy, carefully pouring the heated liquid into a jug - because for some odd reason, Peggy keeps her apartments fully furnished.

He carries the plates over to the already set table after she dishes up the rest of the meal, and they enjoy their steaks paired with an already opened bottle of red wine. They converse about the strange events at the hospital, mainly the whole Bobbi and Lance getting remarried thing, and Phil continually compliments her skills in the kitchen and finishes every last bite but she can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or just saying what a boyfriend should in such a situation and telling her little white lies.

After dessert, they fill the sink up with hot soapy water and wash the dishes together, and it feels so domestic, like a task they would do together every evening. When the plates, bowls, knives and forks are all clean, Melinda wipes her hands off with a paper towel, throwing it into the trash can before seizing Phil’s tie and tugging him towards the bedroom, not unlike their first time.

Their clothes end up scattered all over the floor as they physically declare their love for one another, and Phil really hopes her neighbours can’t hear, because the words exchanged are quite crass and the sounds both of them make are loud.

When they’re both finally tired out, Melinda curls up against Phil and he drapes an arm over her waist; it’s their preferred sleeping position, her face against his shoulder, legs entwined, as close as they can possibly be while still remaining comfortable.

As they drift off to sleep she can hear the rain start to fall outside, the gentle pitter patter of droplets against the windows, that will undoubtedly lead to heavy rainfall and strong winds as the night progresses.

It’s the calm before the storm.


	38. Goodnight, My Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a dragon. And a ton of Mulan references.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) by Billy Joel

**Day 252:**

_When my dad used to tuck me in at night, he’d always say_  
_the same thing, just before he left the room. Goodnight, my angel eyes,_  
_every night. He said that I was a gift from the angels,_  
_the greatest present he’d ever received._  
_My dad’s kind of a dork, but I love him anyway._

 

Growing up, Melinda had almost all the things that little girls could wish for; every toy the moment it hit the shelves, a closet full of pretty dresses, and all the cartoons for her viewing pleasure.

But she had always been quiet, closed off from the other children, being so much more advanced than fellow students in her class. She didn’t properly understand it at the time, but she didn’t care that the other girls wouldn’t play with her, that the boys called her names and teased her for being so small.

Her mother said that being intelligent, bettering yourself, was the most important thing in life.

Her father said that the only thing that mattered was being happy.

Both her parents were doctors, working long shifts at different hospitals and it was a rarity if she got to see both at one time. On her sixth birthday, a Saturday, she was left home alone with her nanny, no friends to celebrate with. She sat alone in her room, spending the morning completing her homework for the weekend, three hours worth of third grade work, with ease.

The housekeeper made her favourite, mushroom soup with grilled chicken, for lunch, and she smiled for the first time that day when her nanny presented her with a birthday gift, a beautiful hardcover copy of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, which now resides on the top shelf of her bookcase back in LA.

She spent the rest of her afternoon practicing the brush strokes her father worked with her on the evening before. The housekeeper called her down for dinner at five, a simple roast which she picked slowly at for almost half an hour before finishing. They presented her with a beautiful cake decorated with frosting and chocolate swirls sitting untouched upon the dining table as she stubbornly refused to light the candles until both Mother and Father were home.

She was a very well behaved child, reserved, no muss, no fuss. She never got in trouble for speaking out of turn, or breaking the rules she knew had been set in place. But when the housekeeper and nanny both insisted that they sing happy birthday and cut the cake, she threw a tantrum and cried, yelling for her parents.

She eventually fell asleep, curled around her designated chair at the dining table, refusing to budge even an inch despite the bribery of ice cream and candy by her nanny. She was still there at ten in the evening, two and a half hours past her bedtime, when her parents finally returned home from the hospital.

Her mother shook her awake, hand gripped tightly around her arm and pulled her to her bedroom, lecturing her for misbehaving. She didn’t dare shed a tear, nodding silently before apologising for her behaviour. She knew she was wrong; she shouldn’t have taken out her frustrations on her nanny and the housekeeper, because they didn’t do anything wrong, and when her mother was done with telling her off, she pulled little Melinda into her arms and took her back down stairs where her father was lighting the candles on her cake.

They sang her happy birthday and when she blew out the candles, she wished that she would one day be brilliant, just like her mother and father.

Her father presented her with a stuffed animal, a majestic dragon, blood red in colour. Her mother had handstitched the letter M onto the dragon’s back, beneath it’s wings in golden thread. There were a dozen gifts that followed that night, but none she cherished more than the magnificent ruby creature.

* * *

 

Melinda is clearing away the dishes when she feels Phil shift behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning forward, balancing his chin on her shoulder. She stills when he rubs his nose against the exposed skin of her neck, and lets out a soft groan when he leaves another red mark upon her flesh.

“Phil.”

She says his name both lovingly, and in warning, because Skye is in the next room and it would be incredibly awkward for them to be caught in the act so to speak, by his nine year old daughter.

“I can’t help it, you smell so nice,” he murmurs against her skin, and she rolls her eyes and resists the urge to elbow him wherever she can reach, because her arms are filled with cutlery and it would be an awful shame to break all of Phil’s nice dinnerware.

She’s piling the last spoon onto the stack and is about to tell Phil to shove off, so she can take the dirty dishes to the sink when the sound of a pager does it for her instead. He immediately releases her and races to his bedroom where he had ditched it, along with his keys, and she sets about rinsing the dishes, before loading them up into the dishwasher.

It’s much quicker than physically hand washing and drying everything like she does back at her place, because there’s no room for such revolutionary equipment in the kitchen, though she might have to speak to Peggy about some alterations if she plans on extending her stay in D.C.

Melinda is wiping down the table when Phil reappears, back in his work clothes and she knows that means that there’s an emergency at the hospital.

“I’m so sorry. I really don’t want to spring this on you, but is there any way you can stay and look after Skye tonight?” he says apologetically as he steps towards her and takes her hands into his, sincere smile on his face.

“Don’t be silly Phil, of course I’ll stay,” she replies softly, leaning up to bump her nose gently against his.

“I love you. You’re amazing, and I love you.”

She gives him yet another eye roll, before prodding him gently on the cheek and is this close to shaking her head at how cheesy and dorky he is.

“I love you too,” she responds, giving him a long, lingering kiss, before shoving him lightly away. “Now go save some lives.”

* * *

 

Melinda steps into the living room just short of ten minutes after Phil has left for the hospital, wringing her hands, slightly nervous at being left to take care of Skye. It’s the first time that Phil hasn’t been there, and she just hopes nothing happens because he’s gone.

“Melinda! Dad said it was just going to be me and you tonight,” Skye announces, clapping her hands together, and it soothes Melinda’s nerves because Skye appears absolutely delighted as she runs to her side and takes her hand, pulling her towards the couch, opposite to where the television set is set up.

“Do you want to watch a movie with me Melinda?” she asks, toothy smile in play, and really, who can say no to that face?

“I’ll go grab the popcorn,” is her response, which draws another happy laugh from Skye who immediately heads to the cabinet where all their CDs and DVDs are stored.

When Melinda returns five minutes later, a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in her arms, Skye triumphantly announces that she’s picked the perfect movie for them to watch, and gestures for Melinda to sit down while she turns on the TV.

“I thought you didn’t like the Disney Princesses,” Melinda says with a smile as Skye fiddles around with the player, carefully removing her precious copy of Mulan from the plastic DVD box.

Skye looks aghast when she turns around, hand over her heart.

“Mulan isn’t just a disney princess. She’s a war hero, just like Captain America,” Skye explains, nodding seriously, and Melinda has a feeling that Phil has indoctrinated his daughter into loving anything and everything related to his childhood comic book hero.

“She saved the whole of China,” Skye continues, eyes lighting up in admiration for the cartoon warrior princess as she inserts the disk into the player, and hopping up onto the couch beside Melinda, a bowl of popcorn sitting between them.

Skye clasps her hands together as the movie begins, almost bouncing with excitement, as if this were the first time she was seeing the film, and Melinda can’t help but smile at her youthful exuberance.

“No, the huns are attacking!” Skye shouts, yelling at the soldier on the screen as she grabs a handful of popcorn, seconds before the hooks come flying out from nowhere, and sure enough, the main villains of the movie make their first experience.

Melinda is glad she’s seen the movie before, because Skye seems to be one big walking spoiler alert, not that she minds.

Skye sings along to Honor to Us All and Reflection, and it’s absolutely delightful; Melinda recalls Phil mentioning that Skye was part of her school’s junior choir, and she definitely agrees with him now that she is quite the budding little alto.

They’ve just reached the part in the movie when Mulan cuts her hair and runs off to join the army, serving in her father’s place, her grandmother praying to the ancestor’s spirits. From what she remembers, her reaction to watching this scene the last time she had seen this movie was just shaking her head at how ludicrous the idea was. Having the ancestors send a physical guardian to protect you - she just really can’t comprehend the idea.

She turns to Skye in surprise when the movie abruptly pauses, about to ask her why she stopped it when Skye grins widely.

“I have a guardian dragon too,” she says, nodding very seriously. “And he’s very special to me, and I don’t let people play with him, but I like you Melinda.”

Melinda can’t help but smile to herself, Skye’s words making her feel warm on the inside - which sounds ridiculous, but she can’t explain the feeling. She just nods when when Skye asks if she would like to see it, and makes herself more comfortable on the couch, setting the popcorn onto the coffee table.

The evening isn’t going as disastrously as she feared it may, Skye continuing to be on her best behaviour and even admitting that she liked her. It feels like a big step, Phil trusting her like this.

“His name is Mushu too, because he has a big M on his back,” Skye informs her as she returns, a familiar red dragon in her arms and for Melinda, it feels like time has stopped altogether.

Because the ruby dragon clutched tightly between Skye’s hands is identical to the one that her own mother had hand crafted for her as a child, right down to the golden M stitched carefully on it’s back.

“He’s from my mom, not Audrey, my real mom. It’s the only thing I have from her, but I’ll let you touch him if you promise to be careful.”

Skye’s words are just barely registering in her mind as her gaze flits between her long lost childhood treasure, and her.. her.. Skye. Someone must be playing some cruel prank on her, because she can’t imagine how this is happening right now.

“Melinda, are you okay?”

She nods shakily and forces a strained smile, gesturing for Skye to resume playing the movie.

“I’m going to go and get us some drinks, okay?” she says quietly, almost surprised she can get the words out because her mind is so jumbled she can barely think straight.

When Skye nods in affirmation, she almost tears away to the kitchen, struggling to maintain control of her breathing as she rests her arms against the counter, her thoughts clouded by memories she’s kept locked away for so long.

_“Congratulations. It’s a girl.”_

_Melinda sobs in relief as Peggy continues to dab at her forehead with a cool dampened towel, avoiding the bandage wrapped around the spot where she had accidentally scored her forehead against sharp metal a week earlier, other hand still being clutched tightly by Melinda._

_“I told you that you could do it. You’re stronger, braver, than you know.”_

_Peggy’s words do nothing to soothe the emotional pain as she hears the screams and cries from her newborn daughter._

_“Would you like to hold her?”_

_A nurse dressed in purple is holding the baby, her baby, wrapped up in a pastel pink blanket, handing the child over to her, but Melinda just shakes her head and closes her eyes._

_She knew that if she held her daughter, she would never be able let her go._

Her mind imagines a hundred thousand different explanations for the situation she was in just moments before, but none of them are even plausible, let alone probable, except one.

Skye, was, is, the little girl, her little girl, the one she gave up, abandoned all those years back.

Melinda takes a couple of quick, shallow breaths, turning around and fetching two glasses from the cabinet, pouring herself a glass of icy water, and downing it all in one go, in the hope that it would wake her up, from this, nightmare.

It doesn’t, but it does calm her down enough to control her emotions as she grabs the juice from the fridge and fills both glasses to the brim, taking a deep breath before re-entering the living room where her- Skye, is still engrossed in the film.

She didn’t realise how much time had passed while she was hyperventilating in the kitchen, but it must have been a while, because the huns are attacking the forbidden city now. She hands Skye her juice and sits quietly down on the edge of the couch, trying to focus her thoughts while pretending to watch the movie.

It’s ended before she knows it, and Skye, without even being told, obediently shuts off the television set and goes to change into her pajamas and prepare for bed. Melinda’s knees are weak, her legs wobbling beneath her as she heads into Skye’s room to check on her before she falls asleep.

The clock on her nightstand reads nine, and Skye is already all wrapped up in her thin blanket, dragon nowhere to be seen, most likely tucked away in a secret hiding spot reserved for her most precious items.

The thought brings Melinda pain as well as comfort that Skye doesn’t appear to hate her birth parents, to hate the woman who left her.

“Thank you for taking care of me tonight Melinda,” she says, yawning sleepily, and Melinda clenches her jaw, forcing another tight smile.

“You’re welcome Skye. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Melinda.”

With that, Skye, curls up even further into her sheets, and within minutes, the even rising and falling of her body with each breath signals that she’s asleep. Melinda quietly shuts off the bedside light and flicks the night light on, before making a quick exit from the room.

* * *

 

Melinda isn’t sure how she should be reacting in a scenario like this - she’s not sure if there have been any cases before that she can follow from.

What would you do if the adopted daughter of the man you were dating, happened to be the same girl that you gave up, ten years ago?

She’s sitting on a stool in Phil’s kitchen, having made sure to clear away all remnants of the movie - the sticky glasses stained with orange juice and the large bowl littered with kernels that hadn’t popped open in the microwave.

What is she supposed to do now? She doesn’t know. Her mother was right when she’d warned her that this would all come back to bite her in the ass, and she should have listened to her. She doesn’t regret the decisions she made, but the outcomes have her afraid for the future.

These past two hours she has only been afraid of how she should be reacting; she hasn’t even begun to think about how Phil will feel when he finds out.

He’ll be so angry, she just knows it.

The tone in his voice when he had spoken to her about Skye’s birth parents was one of pure anger, maybe even hatred. When he finds out, this will all be over, she’s realistic enough to know that much.

She has to tell him, she has to find a time to tell him. When she clears her head and sorts her priorities out, she’ll tell him. Apologise. Ask for his forgiveness, for Skye’s forgiveness and hope that they won’t hate her for this.

She’s so engrossed in her thoughts she doesn’t even hear the key turning in the lock, or Phil calling for her as he enters, panicking when he doesn’t receive a response.

“Melinda? Are you alright?”

When she looks up, he’s only a couple steps from her, and before she can react, push him away, he has his arms around her, hands soothing her hair and back as she trembles against his chest.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispers over and over again, and each time he speaks it hurts a little more.

“What’s wrong?”

She’s pulling away from him and he catches her arm, other hand cupping her cheek to stare into her eyes, concern flooding his voice.

She can’t tell him now.

She can’t.

“I’m just not feeling too well.”

_He hates secrets. He hates lying. He hates Skye’s birth parents, which means he inadvertently hates her too._

His eyes widen, worried expression crossing his face as he places a hand on her forehead to check for her temperature.

“I’m just going to get a cab home.”

He wants to protest, she can tell, but Phil isn’t an idiot. He can see that something is wrong, and that she doesn’t want to speak about it. So he simply takes her hand in his and guides her to the door, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and whispering for her to “Get home safely”.


	39. Whataya Want From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda takes a trip back home to clear her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Whataya Want From Me by Adam Lambert

**Day 260:**

 

_There are situations in life that will drive you to  a point_   
_where you throw your hands up in the air and shout to_   
_no one in particular; Whataya Want From Me?_   
_I’m going to be completely honest here when I say that_   
_I haven’t experienced this first hand, yet,_   
_so all these great pieces of advice that I’m sharing,_   
_are observations._

 

Just over a week has gone by since that night, that night, when Melinda had discovered Skye was the daughter she had left nearly ten years ago, and she’s still no closer to deciding how to proceed, how to deal with this realisation.

She hasn’t seen Skye since then, turning down all of Phil’s invitations to spend time together. She can’t face them right now, with all she knows that they don’t, and she’s almost sure that if she sees Skye again, she won’t be able to hold back the emotions threatening to break through.

Phil is unsurprisingly observant and notices something is wrong straight away. She’s signed herself up for extra shifts, working overtime and barely leaving the hospital, except to grab a change of clothes back at her apartment. The stiff cushions of her office couch are more familiar to her back now than the soft mattress at home, and she’s fallen asleep more than once at her desk.

By the end of the week she’s so exhausted that she can barely think straight - and Peggy bans her from the hospital “for the next 48 hours”, so now she’s stuck at her apartment, left to only her own thoughts. It’s seven in the morning, and she had a solid twelve hours of sleep after collapsing into bed the previous evening, but it feels as though she’s been awake forever, so tired of trying to avoid Phil.

He isn’t making it any easier for her, being so caring and attentive, and when the digital clock on her nightstand shows seven thirty, she sits up in bed, waiting for the doorbell to ring. It does, not more than twenty seconds later, and she slowly pulls off the covers, sliding off the bed and pulling her robe tighter around her body, wishing the thin silken material would provide more warmth and comfort.

Phil is waiting patiently at the door when she opens it, reluctantly letting him inside, and not even bothering to lock it behind them, because she knows she’ll be able to make him leave as soon as possible.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks as he pulls her into his arms, and the warmth that surrounds her is exactly what she wants, what she needs.

What she doesn’t want to lose, what she doesn’t deserve.

There’s a part of her, the tiny childlike, hopeful and wishful part of her that imagines Phil might be happy to find out that she’s Skye’s birth mother, that once she tells them, they’ll be one happy family.

But she knows exactly how he feels about “Skye’s birth parents” and everytime she says those three words in her mind, she hears the tone in which he spoke them, angry, bitter, loathing. The people, the person he so despises is her. It almost makes the I love you’s they trade feel meaningless, because he unknowingly hates her.

She can’t find the energy to speak, so she just nods softly, her cheek rubbing against his shirt, feeling the rising and falling of his chest as he breathes, calmly and evenly. She starts to drift off to the rhythmic beating of his heart and almost yelps in surprise when he shifts, picking her up in his arms, and walking them both over to the couch, where he sits down with her in his lap.

“You work too hard Melinda,” he says, softly stroking her cheek as she rests against his shoulders, surrounded by his warm embrace. “I need to know that you’re okay,” he continues, ghosting his lips over her temple, taking a moment to just breathe in her familiar scent.

“I’m fine Phil,” she mumbles, trying her best to relax against him, to stop her muscles from subconsciously tensing. Her mind is filled with a hundred different possible scenarios that might play out should she confess to Phil what she had discovered a week prior, the guilt building with every second she withholds the truth from him.

“I heard Peggy gave you the next two days off. You could come stay at mine, we could relax, enjoy ourselves,” he murmurs, one hand gently coming to rest on her upper thigh, the other tightening around her shoulders, drawing her closer against his chest. “Let Skye stay over at her friend’s. We could sleep in, I could make you breakfast in bed, brew your favourite tea,” he continues, and she can almost feel him smiling against her hair.

“Phil, I can’t,” she says softly, raising one hand to rest against his chest, shuffling back on his lap to make eye contact with him. She can see his smile fading, expression changing into one of concern as he sits up straighter, removing his hand from her leg and gently cupping her cheek.

“Are you still feeling unwell? I am a doctor you know,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and she can’t help but smile at him, fingers trailing up across his shoulders, neck and jawline until they reach his cheekbones, her thumb stretching out to run over his bottom lip.

“I love you,” she says, and despite the urge she feels to push him away when he leans in for a kiss, she doesn’t. She wants to be strong, to tell him the truth, but she’s not.

She’s weak.

Her arms wind around his neck as she shifts to straddle him and normally, she feels excitement, joy and comfort to be connected so physically, intimately with him, but now she only feels something ngawing at her on the inside.

He pouts when she places a firm hand on his chest, pulling away from his lips as she does.

“I thought we were having a moment,” he huffs, dropping his forehead against her shoulder almost dramatically.

“You should get going,” shes says in all seriousness, uncurling herself from around him and rising, crossing her arms as she waits for him to move.

He rises with a frown, clearly confused by her evasive behaviour, and wraps an arm around her waist before she can escape, his other hand cupping her cheek tentatively.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You seem upset. Is it me? Something I did?” he asks, gaze downcast, and the guilt within her is tearing at her, just seeing that expression across his features.

She sighs, inching a little closer and leaning upwards to whisper in his ear.

“I promised my mother I would visit today. I haven’t seen her in over a year,” she explains, and she can immediately feel the tension seeping from his body, his shoulders relaxing.

“Do you need me to give you a lift to the bus station or something?” he asks with a smile, fingers tenderly tracing over her features.

“She’s coming to get me in about twenty minutes,” Melinda says with a small smirk, the first in a while. “It’ll take you five minutes to get to your car and she’s always fifteen minutes early, so you should really leave now.”

Phil looks alarmed at this and she has to hold back her laughter a little when he gives her one last peck on the cheek before racing from her apartment.

He’s such a dork.

And she doesn’t want to know a future without him in it.

* * *

 

“Have a nice holiday Romanoff?”

Natasha rolls her eyes at Tony who is lounging with his feet propped up on the coffee table, and she purposefully walks straight into his legs, forcing him to move. But not without a loud grumble and she’s tempted to kick him in the shin, just to see him scream out in pain, because that is never not funny.

“Don’t you have some old guy with deep pockets to suck the fat out of?” she responds, dropping down on the opposite couch, which is thankfully, unoccupied.

“I thought May would’ve stolen your shift again,” he says nonchalantly, ignoring her jest. “I started a shift with her two days ago and by the time I’d come in for another shift after a ten hour break, she was still on call in the same clothes. Jeez, that woman is a workaholic.”

“Which is exactly why I forced her to take two days off,” Peggy says as she walks into the room, making a beeline for the fridge because Steve had done his weekly restock earlier in the morning and the food on offer is phenomenal.

“Did Steve get the Pesto Chicken Pasta Salad?” Natasha asks as Peggy fishes out her favourite pre-prepared boxed meal, a Spinach and Ricotta stuffed Ravioli with a Roasted Pumpkin Cream sauce - ready in three minutes under your standard microwave- from the fridge.

Holding the door open with her foot, Peggy leans over and shoves her meal into the microwave oven, setting timer, before turning her attention back to the completely packed upper shelf of the fridge, looking for the meal Natasha has requested. Sure enough, Steve has not only made sure to purchase everyone’s favourites, but has also arranged the boxes in alphabetical order, and the ravioli sits between a Smoked Salmon, Avocado and Cream Cheese “Do It Yourself” hors d'oeuvres making kit, because Trip likes fancy foods, and a Turkey and Honeyed Ham Casserole Bake, and Peggy honestly doesn’t remember whether it’s Bobbi or Lance that likes that one better - because more often than not they stole the other’s food out of spite.

She has a feeling that won’t be happening anymore.

Pulling out Natasha’s salad which is in the standard sealed clear plastic container that this company uses, Peggy tosses it over to her, resisting the urge the roll her eyes at Tony’s “enthusiastic” applause.

When the beeping of the microwave signals that Peggy’s food is heated through, she retrieves it, along with a pair of forks. As she turns to hand over one of them to Natasha, who is giving her a look that says “We need to talk. You know, in private. Well not really in private. Just not with this ass around.”, and she subtly tilts her head and looks upwards for a moment, before leaving the room with an off-handed comment about all the goddamned paperwork.

Tony doesn’t suspect a thing when Natasha slinks out of the lounge minutes later.

* * *

 

Melinda sips the cup of hot tea slowly, concentrating on the intricate patterns covering the delicate porcelain, feeling the weight of her mother’s gaze upon her.

It had taken her days of careful consideration before she had picked up her phone and scrolled down her contacts list until she reached “Mom” - an action she repeated several times before finally tapping call. Unsurprisingly her mother had picked up after the first ring, and after hearing Melinda’s small and shaky “Can I come and visit?”, had quickly responded that she would be by to pick her up the next morning.

The two and a half hour drive back to her childhood home had been completely silent; her mother made no move to coerce her to speak, nor did she try and initiate a conversation, so she simply sat in the front passenger’s seat while her mother drove, wringing her hands together as she watched the world outside pass in a blur.

The scenery had grown more and more familiar as they passed through Pennsylvania; the library that held less books than the one on the third floor of their home, the park with a jungle gym that was nowhere near as spectacular as the one her father put together in one corner of their backyard and local elementary school she had spent barely any time at, skipping through the grades faster than any student before her.

The winding road that lead to their family estate was unchanged from the last time she had visited, nearly three years prior. When her mother had parked in the main garage, she had simply leant back in her seat and retrieved the overnight bag she packed, before exiting and waiting for further instruction.

And here they were, not ten minutes later, sitting in one of the smaller living rooms, each with a cup of hot tea. Part of her wonders if her mother is going to stare her down until she cracks, but the thought disappears as the older woman clears her throat, prompting Melinda to look up and meet her stare.

“How is working in D.C.?”

The look in her mother’s eyes confirms what Melinda is thinking, the question is simply a ruse to start up a conversation - There is nothing about her work that Peggy wouldn’t have already relayed to her mother during their weekly telephone conversations.

“Work is fine.”

Her mother frowns at her curt response, eyes narrowing and lips pursing, a less than pleasant expression passing over her face and really, it’s not an uncommon look for her - utter disdain pertaining to most things in life.

“Margaret tells me you have had success in your surgeries.”

“Yes. Many of my patients are doing well.”

Another bout of silence falls upon them as Melinda resumes sipping from her cup, well aware that they’re running out of tea, and therefore legitimate excuses to stay silent. She takes another gulp, letting the near boiling liquid scorch her tongue, mouth and throat; the silence is uncomfortable, but the conversation that will undoubtedly occur should they resume speaking seems much more daunting.

“She also informs me that you have been seeing someone.”

And this is exactly what she has been anticipating from her mother - straight forward, unimpressed and an expression in her eyes that tells Melinda she knows a lot more than she is letting on.

Melinda nods once in affirmation and places her now empty tea cup back onto the matching saucer with a soft clink, folding her hands in her lap and straightening up in her seat a little, because god forbid if she were to get lectured at this age about bad posture.

“A man that you work with.”

There’s a certain unaccepting tone missing from her mother’s words, and Melinda is surprised to note that the usually stern and uptight woman looks almost- well, pleased is going a little too far, but not unhappy about the knowledge that she’s ascertained.

“His name is Phil,” Melinda supplies quietly, shifting her gaze towards the plush red carpet beneath them, unable to really think of any other way to respond, and it’s a fact she’s sure her mother has already interrogated out of Peggy.

“Did he hurt you?”

Those four words slipping from her mother’s lips are deadly, because as harsh and strict as the woman was, and still is, she has the need to fiercely protect those she cares for, and Melinda most definitely falls into that category.

“No. He’s a very good man, and I.. he means a lot to me.”

This time it is her mother who nods once, considering the depth and meaning behind her words, before her expression turns serious once more and she places her half cup of tea back onto the table.

“Did you come to tell me that you are having his child?”

Melinda almost wants to laugh at the hilarity of this situation, and she knows why her mother is immediately jumping to this conclusion; because it reflects a conversation they shared over ten years ago that she doesn’t particularly wish to have again.

“No. Not exactly.”

Her mother raises a brow at her, a skeptical look forming on her features as she stands and moves so she is directly in front of Melinda, fingers tilting her chin up so their eyes meet.

“You either are, or you are not. There is no inbetween.”

Melinda almost feels like she’s a child again and her mother is trying to give her a lecture on one thing or another that she’s done incorrectly. Keeping her gaze locked on her mother, she reaches over into her open handbag and retrieves her phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe and bringing up the photos she has saved there from their trip to L.A in January. Her mother regards her with curiosity as she selects an image and hands the device over she she can take a better look.

“I take it that this is Phil,” she says almost curtly, another frown marring her features, most likely at the sight of her daughter’s “boyfriend”, an older man with a receding hairline, goofy smile and an arm around the shoulders of a little girl who looks equally excitable, grinning at the camera whilst proudly displaying her new Mickey Mouse plush toy.

“Yes.”

“And she is his daughter?”

Melinda bites the inside of her cheek and closes her eyes, taking a breath and once again lowering her gaze to the ground before speaking.

“Yes. But by blood she is mine.”

That seems to have broken whatever tension lay in the air between them as Melinda’s shoulders sag, her hands rising up to cover her eyes as she essentially breaks down, as best as she knows how. She feels her mother’s touch upon her shoulder and immediately leans into her, resting her head against her mother’s arm as her body trembles lightly with tearless cries.

She loses track of time and her surroundings, but the next thing she knows, her mother is guiding her upstairs to her childhood bedroom with hand on her back, supporting most of her weight and putting her to bed, tugging the always clean blankets over her body and telling her to “get some rest”, and that she would wake her for dinner.

It’s more physical comfort than her mother has really offered before, and for the first time since her discovery, Melinda feels relaxed enough to fall into a dreamless sleep, curled up in the familiar jade green sheets.

* * *

 

Following an almost too long discussion about Melinda’s strange behaviour in the past week with Natasha, Peggy grows even more concerned for her friend. But she doesn’t have too much time to dwell on her thoughts because Natasha is hosting a little “couple’s” game night at her apartment, and due to the fact that Steve lives across the hall, Peggy’s attendance is absolutely mandatory.

Bobbi and Lance, freshly re-engaged and bickering no less than before are also coming along, because Natasha pretty much always gets what she wants. And after Bobbi had commented that the idea seemed interesting, Lance, very much whipped, had agreed wholeheartedly. Despite their constant disagreements and arguments, Lance is much more attentive to the wishes of his pregnant fiance.

Clint and Steve have already left work together, off to get some fresh ingredients for dinner, because Natasha lives on mostly alcohol and fast food. Natasha is pulling Peggy down the hall, the two of them in search of Phil because Melinda isn’t answering her phone.

It seems as though they’ve almost mapped every hallway of the hospital when they finally spot Phil turning a corner, a pair of interns trailing after him, both carrying a stack of files in arms.

“Couples game night at my place Coulson. You in?” Natasa’s loud call down the hall causes everyone within a twenty metre vicinity to jump almost half a foot in the air. Phil approaches as his interns scatter, laughing as everyone in the hallway disperses for fear of going deaf in Natasha’s presence.

“I’d love to, but Melinda is out of town,” he says, folding his arms across his chest as he comes to a stop in front of Natasha and Peggy.

“Out of town?” Natasha questions in surprise, sharing a look with Peggy that Phil doesn’t catch.

“Yeah. Her mother came and picked her up this morning, said she was going for a visit,” Phil explains with a shrug. “You guys enjoy yourselves though,” he says, nodding at them before retreating in search of his missing interns.

And for the second time in the last minute, he misses the concerned expressions that cross the faces of his two co-workers.

 


	40. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil has some flashbacks and a secret is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Impossible - Cover by James Arthur

**Day 260:**

_Now, have you ever encountered a scenario in life_  
_where something happens that you could have_  
_never predicted; you would have never anticipated?_  
_What’s the word to describe it... Impossible?_  
_A wise man, well a fictional man, okay, let’s not go there._  
_Someone, once said, that when you have eliminated the impossible,_  
_whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?_

 

Phil Coulson is a good man; he’s a pediatric surgeon, donates to charity and dotes on his only daughter. His patients love him, his coworkers like having him around and his neighbours have never raised a complaint about any disturbances in the years he’s lived in that apartment building.

There are a few things that can set him off, as with anybody; even the most patient and good natured people have one or two. For Phil, it’s a couple of minor unrelated situations, plus two major upsets, that can bring out the worst in him. The first of the two is when he feels helpless at work - when he can’t save his patients, in particular those that he’s grown attached to over a period time treating them.

The second pertains to his daughter, and the details regarding how she went from a nameless unwanted child to Skye Coulson, loved by all those that knew her and by no one more than her father.

The day he first held her in his arms is a constant reminder to him that his poor girl was abandoned, unloved, and it’s one of the facts that motivates him to protect her, to make sure she knows that she is loved and cared for.

It’s a real cliche to say this, but he remembers that day as if it had only just passed, his hands shaking on the wheel as they drove up to Philadelphia, Audrey patting him on the arm and telling him to breathe, because he was so nervous his body had forgotten to function.

They had walked hand in hand into the hospital, meeting the social worker in charge at the reception and his nerves had increased tri-fold, Audrey having to grab him tightly around the arm and drag him to keep him moving.

They stood together at the nursery, peering over the sea of pastel pinks and blues, trying to guess which baby was to be theirs. As a pediatric fellow, Phil knew the ins and outs of the hospital like the back of his hand, but all his knowledge from five years of residency seemed to have vanished as they were led inside

One of the nurses gestured for them to follow as she headed to the far side of the nursery, and if it hadn’t been for Audrey urging him on, Phil might have collapsed from how much his legs were shaking.

But the moment he laid eyes on his precious little angel, something changed within him - fatherly instincts - they had all said. She was all wrinkly and pink in the face, a shade or two darker than the little onesie and matching beanie they had dressed her in, moving her chubby little arms and kicking her legs out. And when Phil had carefully picked her up, cradling her in his arms, she had snuggled right up to him, and to this day, he swears she had smiled at him in that moment.

They had already finalised the paperwork before she came into this world, her birth mother requesting a closed adoption and remaining anonymous through the entire process. He couldn’t believe how someone could be so heartless as to give up their own child for adoption, but he was, and still is grateful that through the horrible act of leaving her daughter, Skye’s birth mother had essentially given him a gift that he would forever cherish.

That didn’t, it doesn’t, change how he feels towards her, and anyone that would choose to bring a child into the world only to abandon them. The fact would be easier to forget, well not forget, never forget; ignore is the more correct term, if Skye wasn’t so insistent in learning more about her birth parents, in particular her birth mother, because she grew up with a loving father and wasn’t missing that part of her life.

“Dad, you promised.”

Skye is assuming an annoyed position, her arms crossed in front of her chest, a cross between a pout and a frown on her face. He isn’t surprised that she’s bringing it up again, she’s always been a little stubborn, and this is a topic that he already knows she won’t be deterred from learning more about.

“I said when you were older.”

Skye glares at him and shifts her hands down to her hips with a huff.

“I’m nearly ten.

“When I said older, I meant eighteen, not nearly ten, Skye,” Phil says with a sigh, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand as she continues to appear dissatisfied with his excuses. He really doesn’t need this right now, between Melinda’s strange behaviour and the increase in workload at the hospital, he already has enough to worry about.

“I’m doing fifth grade level work at school Dad – I know what I’m asking,” she says, and to prove her own point, she refrains from childishly stomping her foot like she usually does, puffing out her chest to stand a little taller.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

He really doesn’t want to, but Skye has been asking several times a year for the last four years, unable to really comprehend what “adoption” meant before that. And he owes it to her to let her know; she deserves to know the truth about her birth parents – his feelings can’t come in to play on the matter.

“Thanks Dad,” she says, beaming, and he doesn’t want to see that beautiful smile disappear once she finds out that she wasn’t wanted by those that brought her into the world. She’s strong, resilient, and so brave, never crying during vaccinations, so he only hopes that this won’t shatter her world.

* * *

 

After Jemma has dropped by to take Skye to school, Phil paces around the living room for almost twenty minutes, before retreating to his bedroom, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the tension that’s slowly building up.

He drops down onto the side of his bed, running his hands briefly through his hair, before taking a few shallow breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. Loosening his tie, he wonders if he should take a shower before proceeding, because he’s in the same clothes that he put on for his early afternoon shift the day before, but he realises that he’s just stalling once again.

He reaches down and unlocks the bottom drawer of his night stand, slipping his hand inside and withdrawing an old envelope, an action he’s repeated over a thousand times before today. Skye isn’t the only who has been curious about her birth parents all these years; Phil wanted to put a name, a face to those that had been cruel enough to abandon their own child.

The yellowed envelope is slightly crinkled, and Phil remembers a time when it was stark white, crisp and new, being given to him by the nurse in charge of Skye. From her mother, she had said, handing it over to him, along with a pre-owned ruby dragon, and he’d been tempted to throw both away many times in that first year, but he couldn’t do that to his daughter, and the dragon was the only thing that let him and Audrey have a peaceful night’s sleep.

 

He turns the envelope in his hands, staring at the writing in black ink on the front. To My Daughter, it reads, in an elegant script, and he can’t help but feel it seems a little familiar – like he’s seen it somewhere else but here. The flap is tucked into the back, not sealed on, and the thought “How easy would it be to just open it?” crosses his mind, like it did every time he had been in this situation before today.

 

Skye wants to know – she’s made that clear enough. A part of him wants to know, to see the contents of the envelope, and another part doesn’t. That part wants Skye to forget about the fact that she’s adopted and just be happy with him; but it’s incredibly selfish and he can’t do that to her. He almost can’t believe his actions as he slips a finger beneath the flap, lifting it up and out of the back. If he tilts the envelope now, whatever is inside will come sliding out, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to see it or not – but that isn’t the issue. Whatever is inside is marked clearly for Skye, and it’s like he’s betraying her by doing this.

His fingers shake as he pulls the letter out, surprised to find it so worn and wrinkled, because it has never left the envelope. It’s as if he has no control over his hands as he slowly unfolds the single sheet of paper he extracted, but something slipping out from within snaps him back to the present. He carefully slides the letter back into the envelope, shaking his head at how stupid his actions had just been as he bends down to retrieve whatever has fallen out and onto the ground.

It’s another piece of paper, thicker than the letter had been and much smaller in size. The side that is facing him is blank, but he can feel the shiny surface beneath his fingertips. He realises that it’s a photograph a split second after he turns it around his hands, but it’s too late to unsee the image ingrained on the other side.

He feels as though his everything is being ripped apart right in front of his very eyes, because the woman in the photo, Skye’s birth mother, is someone he recognises well, too well.

And the weight of his entire world crumbling down upon his shoulders breaks his heart before his mind, his fingers tightening around the smiling image of an eighteen year old Melinda.

He remembers saying that she had the appearance of a teenager not too long after they first met, and he realises how correct he was in that statement now, because she hasn’t aged a day in ten years.

* * *

 

He’s sleep deprived and worn out, but the thought of Melinda, his girlfriend, the woman he has considered spending the rest of his life with, is harbouring a secret like this, is killing him within. The only thing keeping him awake is the pain within as he dials her number over and over, listening to the incessant dial tone and reaching voicemail each time.

He’s not in the correct state of mind to be thinking, but his brain doesn’t give him much of a choice. After seventeen missed calls he begins to formulate a reason for Melinda being here; she must have an ulterior motive - it’s something he suspected from the day she agreed to go out with him, but pushed aside because his feelings had more weight over the matter.

But now, he knows.

And he’s going to let her know.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, there was nothing else we could do for him. His heart was damaged beyond repair..”

Melinda tenses as the women standing before her start to weep; it’s the one of the most difficult parts about being a doctor, having to deliver the news to loved ones, that there was nothing else to be done, that they’d tried their best.

There’s an overwhelming sense of guilt.

When you look at a patient’s scan, open them up and dig around, and realising that nothing short of a miracle can save them.

It’s one of the first things you learn as an intern, how to deal with family members. How to help them through these terrible times; and it’s not part of the job description, but knowing makes you a better doctor.

She’s tired.

Physically from the day, from lack of sleep, lack of rest.

But mentally, she’s tired mentally too.

Tired of avoiding Phil, tired of harbouring secrets.

She just needs to find a way to tell him. To ease him into it. The last thing she wants is for him to-

“Melinda!”

He’s storming down the hallway towards the waiting area; everyone else is regarding them with curious glances.

He’s angry.

It’s too late.

She heads towards him, and he grabs her arm tightly, almost enough to hurt.

“You manipulative..” -his words trail off but she knows how that statement would have ended had he been anyone else.

It hurts.

Not the arm that he’s bruising, but his words.

“Phil, I-” she tries softly, not wanting to look at him. She doesn’t want to see the anger in his eyes, the mistrust.

“How dare you just waltz back into her life? How dare you come here like this, after leaving her?”

His voice is growing louder, and they’ve attracted the attention of anyone within a hearing range.

“No, I-” she can feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she speaks and she hasn’t cried in years, not since the day that lead to all of this; she can’t do it now.

“You know, I thought we met by fate. I thought I loved you.”

She can’t breathe. The air filling her lungs feels like poison.

“I should’ve known. Why you were so evasive, why you wouldn’t tell me anything about your past, why you took every opportunity possible to spend time with my daughter.”

She’s vaguely aware of the nurses and residents escorting people away, and she reaches a hand up to him, only to have him slap it away.

“Phil, can we talk about this later, in private?”

He’s livid, and his grip on her arm tightens to the point where she’s sure that circulation to her fingers has ceased.

“Embarrassed now are we? Don’t want the world to hear your dirty little secret? Well too bad. You left Skye all those years back, and you have the audacity to try and come back into her life now?”

Her gaze is still locked onto her feet; it’s painful, everything is painful.

“Do you know how many times she’s asked me about her real parents? How I had to lie, because I couldn’t tell her that her mother didn’t want her?”

She’s shaking her head, her tears are threatening to spill, but she still has this much strength in her, enough strength to hold her emotions back.

“Phil, please, let me explain.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she slowly tilts her head up towards him, and their eyes finally lock.

Hers are swimming with tears, and his are filled with nothing more than anger, towards her.

“You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to do anything. I don’t want you around her, around me. We’re through.”

He releases her arm, almost throwing it against her body like he’s just thrown those words at her, and she can do nothing more than stand and watch as he retreats, the pain and hurt growing with every step he takes.

It’s over.

* * *

 

Peggy has always been sensitive to the small things, noticing details that others are more than likely to miss; one of the many things that contributes to her success as a trauma surgeon. So when she exits the OR after a messy surgery in the late afternoon, she immediately knows that something is wrong.

It’s not only the strange glances that the nurses, interns and residents are shooting one another, but also the whispers beneath their breath. Their gossiping is definitely not unusual, but the topic of conversation is one that has turning her head and trying to figure out if she is hearing things.

She hurries down through the halls, catching snippets of conversations in hushed tones, and she has no difficulty piecing together what the big conundrum is. But it isn’t until she passes the attendings lounge and sees Natasha and Clint engaging in a heated argument that she realises exactly what has transpired.

“You can’t just stand there and judge her, you don’t know the story behind it,” Natasha is stating loudly, arms drawn tightly across her chest.

“What story is there to be told? Phil adopted Skye the day after she was born, that’s how quickly the poor girl was ditched,” Clint retorts, throwing his arms up into the air in an expression of exasperation.

“Clint you can’t say that. And Melinda is here now, and she’s been nothing but good to Skye. We can’t make assumptions based on an argument she and Phil had in the hallway,” Natasha tries with a loud sigh, rubbing her temples with one hand.

“You know that I know exactly what it’s like to be unwanted by the people who brought me into this world. I’m glad they never came back for me, because they don’t deserve to see the man I am today; they played no part in it,” he shouts, face flushing a shade similar to her hair colour.

“Clint...” Natasha says in warning, voice lowering in both tone and volume.

“I’m with Phil on this Natasha. I’ve seen Skye grow up, she’s a niece to me. I can’t think of an act more horrible than abandoning your own child,” he says, lowering his arms, clearly having no energy to continue the shouting match.

Natasha’s face is devoid of all emotion, her gaze trained at a blank spot on the wall just over Clint’s shoulder as she speaks.

“I’ve done worse,” she bites out, eyes flicking upwards to meet his for just a moment, before turning on her heel and fleeing the room.

Peggy watches as Natasha rushes down the hall in front of her, disappearing around a corner as Clint swears loudly and the sound of something smashing echoes from the lounge. She should go inside and tell him to calm down, to reprimand him for inappropriate behaviour on hospital grounds, but she really has more pressing matters.

So she leaves him be and continues on her way.

Time overseas as an medic has her passing the elevators and dashing for the stairs, taking two at a time until she reaches the fifth floor.

She feels her heart metaphorically plummeting through the ground as she tears into Melinda’s office, finding the younger woman sitting silently against one wall, curled up in a foetal position with her head resting against the side of an old arm chair. The expression on her features is one of defeat, and Peggy doesn’t think twice before locking the door behind her and rushing to her friend, arms immediately reaching out to hold her.

Neither speak a word or make a sound as Peggy pulls Melinda into her arms, but she can feel the silent trembles and pained breathing as she holds her close, and she just hopes that things will blow over.

But it’s not that simple.

Life never is.

 


	41. Our Last Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda and Phil finally get a chance to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Our Last Summer by ABBA

**Day 278**

_So I haven’t really experienced romance myself. Yet._   
_I don’t know how it feels, but I feel as though I know_   
_what it’s like. And I’ve seen heaps of films about_   
_all sorts of romance - my favourite to watch are the_   
_ones that are like - we spent our last summer together_   
_but now we’re apart once more - because I think that’s what_   
_reality is like. Things seldom last forever, but when they do_   
_it’s almost magical._

 

Work. Work. Sleep. Work. Work. Sleep.

It takes every last ounce of energy within her body to remind Melinda to force enough food down to sustain her through all the working. She's capped her hours at the hospital in the past week, completing surgery after surgery successfully, fingers numb from being clutched around the scalpels and the endless scrubbing in and out.

She’s given up trying to speak to Phil.

He ignores her in every way possible, fleeing from rooms as she enters, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, switching shifts with other attendings to minimise their chances of bumping into one another. She doesn’t know how many times she’s called him, but after the first twenty or so tries, she stopped reaching his voicemail; the familiar _“This is Phil Coulson, I’m unavailable at the moment, please leave a message”_ , the calls cutting before the first ring.

In her warped state of mind, it takes another dozen calls before she realises that he’s blocked her number.

Phil isn’t the only one who is angry; she’s not a fool. She knew that her decisions, the repercussions for the choices she made as a teenager would always come to light, haunt her in the worst way possible.

Nearly the entirety of the hospital staff are either giving her the cold shoulder or blatantly insulting her to her face.

She tells herself that it doesn’t bother her, that she survived the whispers, the judgemental stares and harsh comments from complete strangers and those she thought were friends once before, and she’ll do it again.

But the truth is that it hurts.

Not too long ago she was so very close in making the decision to remain at Shield Memorial permanently, not only because of Phil, but because she had finally made honest to good friends for once in her life.

It’s funny how quickly things change.

She doesn’t blame them. They were Phil’s friends, first and foremost. He’d been there for at least a decade, they knew him, they trusted him - in comparison she’s still a newcomer. One that came in and essentially ruined his life. It’s her fault. Phil did it, raising Skye essentially alone while working full time. She was weak, scared, and chose herself, her career, over Skye, wonderful little Skye. She’d given up that beautiful girl, it was her choice and no one had forced her into it - so if people want to be angry at her for it, she’ll take it.

The other attendings have enough tact to avoid confronting her face to face, but the residents, nurses and lab techs have no problem with showing her exactly how they feel. She’s basically a social leper now - having lost the respect of all those around her, no one willing to work alongside her.

Peggy has been doing her best to protect Melinda from the brunt of the insults, but she’s not nineteen anymore and she doesn’t need her friend to save her. As Chief of Staff, Peggy can pretty much make the call to put anyone in danger of being fired, and she’s drafted up an anti-harassment notice, but Melinda doesn’t want to cause any more trouble than she already has.

Natasha is very firmly standing by her side, both metaphorically and literally -no one dares to speak ill of Melinda when Natasha is around.

But that really just makes it even worse.

Not only has she ruined her own relationship, she’s torn right through Natasha and Clint’s. She’s used to having guilt weigh her down, but now that she has to face the reality of her actions each and every day, each and every step is harder to take. Not only the ten years worth of internal turmoil over her actions but now the knowledge that others are suffering as a direct cause of the choices that they had no part of.

“Err, Dr. Romanoff. Um, Doctor Barton, he uh, he says he’s finished with the plans for the skin graft you requested and that Dr. Hunter will scrub in with you this afternoon.”

Young Leo Fitz, obviously very frazzled, stutters as he relays the message to Natasha, who sits rigidly beside Melinda. She responds only with a quick nod, jaw clenching, and he practically flees from the room.

It’s been happening to both of them lately - the poor interns having to run back and forth to deliver messages to them, because no one wishes to speak to them unless it’s absolutely necessary.

It’s not Natasha’s fault, and Melinda hates herself for bringing all this upon her friend. One of her only friends. Despite the fact that Natasha is in her mid-twenties and perfectly capable of defending herself, she can’t help but see the teenager that had only just immigrated to the United States and spoke with a slight Russian accent.

They became friends back then because they were, and still are, very much alike. Both young, and very quiet and alone in the world. Melinda still had her parents in Pennsylvania and Peggy who wrote her often, but Natasha had nobody. No family, no friends, no one who cared. They shared similar views career-wise and both valued their jobs over most things in life.

“I’m sorry,” Melinda tries again, but Natasha just shakes her head.

“It is not you who should be sorry. All of them, they have no right to judge you. Phil should be grateful for all he has in the world, and Clint, he’s angry at me, and not because of you.”

Melinda runs a hand through her hair, sighing in defeat. There’s no changing the younger woman’s views, she’s tried many times in the past, taking just a little too long to learn to give up. She checks her phone for the time and feels the nerves build up once more as she rises from her seat.

“I have to go scrub in.” With Phil, she doesn’t add, but Natasha knows because she’s reaching over and placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“I’ll swap with you. You can take my surgery with Hunter - at least Bobbi’s got him on a tight leash.”

“It’s alright. I’ll be fine,” she says, not quite believing her own words. She doesn’t feel fine, and she probably won’t be. But she has to face her problems like an adult - she’s thirty years old for crying out loud.

And she needs to get Phil to agree to have a civil conversation with her. It’s been almost two weeks, and she hopes he’s calmed down enough to let her apologise, and explain, and apologise some more. And if he is as good of a man as she’s grown to know him as, he’ll forgive her eventually.

She just has to hope.

* * *

 

The surgery was awkward.

Incredibly so.

She’s angry that their personal relationship is affecting their work, but Phil wasn’t really the problem. It was the interns and residents, two of whom almost stabbed her when they passed over surgical instruments. And pretended not to hear her the first three times she asked.

They’re scrubbing out now, just her and Phil. She shakes the excess water from her hands as he turns his tap off, and it’s childish, but she makes a dash for the door, leaning up against it and blocking his most convenient exit.

“We need to talk.”

He doesn’t appear to pleased at her, but it’s a step up from the horrifyingly angry expression he wore when he confronted her two weeks ago.

“I want to explain,” she says, and he looks up to meet her gaze as he slowly dries off his hands, disposing the used cloth into the specially marked bin. He makes no move to speak, and she takes that as permission to continue.

“I’m not here to take Skye away from you Phil. I didn’t even know until several weeks ago that she was my-”

He holds up a single finger, closing his eyes, a frown marring his brow and she stops speaking.

When he replies, it’s almost eerie, and frightens her, his voice so soft she almost has to lean in to hear him.

“Skye is my daughter. Not yours.”

There’s the tiniest part of her that wants to point out that had she not given birth to Skye, they wouldn’t be having this discussion, but it’s squashed down by the weight of his words. He isn’t wrong. She has no claim to Skye, legally or otherwise.

“I loved her from the moment I first held her, the day after she was born. A whole day. She spent her first day in this world with no one by her side, no one to soothe her tears, no one to love her.”

She wants to yell that she knew that. That while her newborn daughter was alone in the nursery she was alone in the hospital bed, wanting nothing more than to go and see her, hold her, whisper that she loved her. But it would have been hard to let her go afterwards. She doesn’t regret her decision, not even now, standing in this situation.

“We were doing just fine, the two of us, before you showed up. We don’t need you in our lives Melinda. There was a time when I thought we did, but I know now. Skye is happy, and I’m happy. _We don’t need you._ ”

He looks about as happy as she feels, but she says nothing as she continues to hold his gaze, letting his words run through her mind over and over again, like waves crashing against the shore.

_Skye is happy._

That’s all she really ever wanted for her. A happy life. For her to be loved, to be cherished. Back then she had known next to nothing about who the adoptive parents would be, but they wanted the baby that hadn’t even been born yet, and that was enough for her. Had there be any chance her daughter would end up with the foster system, she wouldn’t have gone through with it.

_I’m happy._

Phil was a happy man when they met, exuberant and optimistic about life. She was simply content with the way things are. She hadn’t found happiness until she had found him, but he didn’t need her to have his.

_We don’t need you._

You don’t need me, she almost repeats, but her mouth is dry and she can’t speak because there really is nothing more that needs to be said.

Without another word, she moves away from the door to allow him a chance to escape from the room, and he takes it. He gives her a curt nod as he leaves, and she takes it as a sign that they’ve reached some sort of understanding.

They don’t need her in their lives.

She doesn’t need them either. She was perfectly fine with her boring, repetitive days in LA. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have many friends, or that she never smiled because she wanted to. She’s a doctor; the day she chose this path was the day she resigned to spending her life helping others.

She wants them.

But they don’t need her.

They don’t want her.

* * *

 

“Melinda, you don’t have to do this.”

Peggy is staring her down, the concern evident in her tone. Concern, not sympathy. It was one of the many reasons why the two of them got along so well. She didn’t want sympathy, she didn’t deserve it, and Peggy refrained from giving it to her. Mostly.

“I’ve already made up my mind.”

And that’s that.

Peggy watches in silence as Melinda exits the room, biting her cheek to prevent herself from raising another objection to her friend’s retreating form. After a moment, her gaze drifts back to the envelope lying on her cluttered desk, above miscellaneous files and records, the stark white colour of the evidently just-purchased letter carrier sticking out like a sore thumb against the manilla folders.

Three words are written clearly in black ink on the front, but even if the envelope had been blank, she would have had no trouble understanding it’s purpose. She wonders how things could have gone from joyous to this, whatever it is that exists now.

It’s against protocol, but she opens her drawer and gently tucks the unopened letter inside, because no one else needs to know about this right now. And Melinda still has an infinite amount of time to change her mind. Before she shuts the drawer and turns a key in the lock, she allows her fingertips to trace across the dark words marring the centre of the envelope.

_Letter of Resignation_

 

 


	42. Just A Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some cupcake baking, and some drinking, and then two people finally have an honest conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Just a Fool by Christina Aguilera ft. Blake Shelton

**Day 286**

_You know when you’re younger and your teachers,_   
_your parents, they tell you to use your words._   
_Well, you’re taught them for a reason._   
_There comes a point in life where you’ll meet someone,_   
_someone you believe you can share your secrets with,_   
_talk about your demons, the skeletons in your closet._   
_And if they judge you for that well,_   
_they’re just a fool._

 

Days off are a precious commodity in the life of a surgeon, or anyone working at a hospital really, and so Phil spends most of his with Skye. Not many of his fellow attendings have children, so with a bit of swapping and trading, he manages to get a majority of his time off during weekends and evenings.

“Dad, you haven’t got enough ingredients,” Skye informs him as she hops up onto the kitchen bench top where he has eggs, flour, milk and other baking essentials neatly laid out.

“Wha-?”

Phil frowns as he picks up the pre-printed recipe, scanning through the required ingredients and amounts before turning to check the items he’s set out and then back to the recipe.

“I need eighteen cupcakes remember? Because ten of us are going to be at Cassie’s house and we have to eat some right after we’re done to make sure they’re good.”

He doesn’t remember.

“You have a sleepover tonight?” he asks, worry evident in his voice, and he’s feeling like a terrible father at the moment because he can’t even remember that he needs to take his daughter to stay at a friend’s house, an event that she’s clearly been looking forward to for quite some time.

“Yeah, why do you think I said we needed to make cupcakes,” Skye explains, mustering up as much exasperation as a nine year old possibly can as she rolls her eyes at him.

The action is too reminiscent of Melinda, and it makes his heart ache- “Phil, don’t be ridiculous, heart’s don’t ache, unless you’re having a heart attack, in which case I’ll crack you open and take a look.”

Everything reminds him of her.

“Dad, are you okay?”

Skye is watching him with concern now, her small hand resting on his shoulder and just looking at her like this makes him want to hit himself over the head for not picking up on the resemblances earlier- those big brown eyes and the way they both act; there’s just so many similarities, it’s almost eerie.

“Does you spacing out have anything to do with Melinda not visiting us any more?”

Phil almost takes a step back at Skye’s question, because he really should have seen this coming. He’s not saying this with the bias a parent has for their child, but Skye is advanced for her age; if IQ is hereditary, then the fact that Melinda is her mother probably explains it. He should have known to expect that she’d pick up on his sullen mood and the absence of someone who has regularly been in their lives for the past half year.

“Melinda’s just very busy at the hospital; people get sick during parts of the years more than others,” he explains, hoping it doesn’t sound like as much of a lie as it does in his mind.

Skye watches him for a moment, almost skeptically tilting her head to one side, before seemingly accepting his answer with a smile.

“You’ll have to bring her a cupcake then,” she tells him, beginning to reach for the butter to start their cake batter.

There’s a pang in his chest at her words and he just nods, softly patting her back in encouragement as they start their baking project.

* * *

 

It doesn’t strike Melinda how little of her life she’s moved over to D.C. until the afternoon she begins to pack away some of the belongings she intends to take back with her to L.A., because there really isn’t much for her to put away.

She spends five minutes just sitting on the end of her bed, looking around the room in an almost blanked out like state before Peggy enters the room and ushers her out into the kitchen to have some tea.

“I do hope you’re considering changing your mind about the resignation. Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery is a position we’d be interested in offering you permanently or at least on a longer term. And I really don’t want to have to go out and hire someone new.”

Melinda eyes Peggy warily, because this is a conversation they’ve had every day since she handed in her letter of resignation, and she really doesn’t understand why the woman keeps trying. Peggy knows very well how stubborn Melinda can be, but then again, no one is really as stubborn as Peggy, so it makes a little sense.

“You’re not going to change my mind you know,” she responds, taking a sip of tea, and despite how stressful as these past few weeks have been, she feels almost calm sitting here with her choice beverage, conversing with her oldest friend, even if the conversation is not one she really wants to be having.

“I know. But it won’t stop me from trying.”

They both share a small smile at that.

* * *

 

Getting drunk is definitely not the answer to solving one’s problems in life - but a little alcohol here and there really does help, maybe even just as a placebo. And that’s why Phil agrees to meet up with a couple of guys from the hospital after dropping Skye off at her friend’s house; he just needs a break, that’s all.

Turns out he’s not the only one.

Clint and Lance are already moping in a booth at the back of the bar when he enters with Steve in tow, each with an empty glass in their hands. Steve heads off to the bar to grab them a round of drinks, while Phil sits himself down next to Clint, adopting a similar posture and expression as the two other men.

By the time Steve returns with their drinks, the three of them are looking even more sullen, and he really doesn’t want to have to deal with it all night, so what better than to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

“Alright. Which one of you wants to go first?” he asks, well, more like demands, as he sets the tray of beers down and slides in beside Lance. No one bothers to give him a verbal response, and he thinks his instincts have failed him for a moment, until Lance reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out what they all immediately recognise as a printed sonogram.

Bobbi’s pregnancy wasn’t exactly a national secret - and so they’re understandably confused as to why an ultrasound could cause such a mood change in Lance, until they lean in to get a closer glimpse of the photo and spot the second blob, and then Steve is clapping Lance on the back in a congratulatory manner.

“I’m not sure I can take any more surprises,” he confesses. “I mean I love Bob, and I’m glad we’re havin’ a little tyke, well two, and don’t mistake this for me not being happy, but I’m just worried."

And that’s really understandable. Steve and Phil both make an effort to console him, but Phil does notice Clint appears really uncomfortable with the conversation, keeping to himself and refraining from participating. He doesn’t make mention of his observations, because he doesn’t think his friend would appreciate it, but he notices it nonetheless.

Steve also attempts to bring up the whole Melinda being Skye’s mother thing; both he and Lance making apparent that they are in neutral territory over this topic. Phil has a feeling Peggy is the one orchestrating this entire conversation from behind the scenes, but he powers through it anyhow.

As reluctant as he is to listen to and outsider’s opinion on the matter, Steve’s arguments have always been very persuasive, and now that he’s had a bit more time to get used to the whole thing, he’s able to step back and look at the whole thing more rationally.

He leaves the bar feeling like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. He stands by the choices he’s made in the past few weeks, and he firmly believes what he’s doing is right for Skye. He really does.

* * *

 

Clint is two beers past tipsy when he arrives on his floor, and almost thinks he’s hallucinating when he sees a figure sitting hunched over on his doormat. The alcohol is slowing his brain function because it takes him several more moments to realise that it’s Natasha.

“You know you have a key right?” he says, trying to sound lighthearted in lieu of the recent tension between them, but it comes out rougher than he means to.

She stands up in a flash, and then they’re making proper eye contact without argument for the first time in a week. It feels like they’ve just been yelling and screaming each time they’re within the general vicinity of one another lately, and it almost scares him that it’s silent now.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to give it back,” she replies, voice hoarse, eyes red rimmed and she’s just swimming in her giant sweatshirt, which he’s pretty sure belonged to him at some point and he doesn’t want to believe that it’s come to this. He ruins all his relationships but he doesn’t want to ruin this one.

“Nat…” he croaks out, and then she’s in his arms and they’re holding on to one another for dear life. They have their problems, big problems, but nothing else seems to matter when they have this, her hands clenching his shirt, his around her waist and her head resting in the crook of his neck.

They do talk about the problems though.

Later that night when they’re lying face to face in bed, he tells her about the abuse he suffered at the hands of his parents until they decided he wasn’t worth the trouble and left him to fend for himself. She knows the story from that part onwards. In turn, she tells him about the instructors at her school, how they coerced her to terminate an accidental pregnancy, and how as a result, she can’t have anymore children.

They cry for one another, wrapped up together, and that’s all they really needed, to talk, to share, to trust.


	43. Your Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of honesty, followed by some tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : Your Song (Cover) by Ellie Goulding

**Day 293:**

_I’m a lover of music; always have been._   
_Perhaps it’s because for the first two years of my life,_   
_the sound of a bow running over strings and creating_   
_unique sounds with each draw, was a constant._  
_As a result, I like to imagine that music plays in the background,_  
_for every important event in life._  
_Each one is different, each one special,_  
_a dozen chords, a thirty second melody, a two hour symphony,_  
_each is a song, your song, that plays just for you._

 

She’s standing nervously at the front gates of the school, amongst other parents and students, looking around for any sign of-

“Melinda!”

Skye.

She’s barreling through the crowds, a huge smile on her face as she races towards Melinda.

_I could have had this every day if I hadn’t left her._

“I missed you so much. Dad says you’re too busy at work to come and visit.”

Skye’s standing right in front of her now, and has her arms wrapped around Melinda’s midsection. Melinda bends slightly to return the embrace, relishing in the feeling of hugging her daughter. At least Phil had been kind enough not to tell her the truth.

“I missed you too.”

_I’ve missed you everyday since I gave you up, and I’ll miss you everyday for the rest of my life._

Melinda takes a deep breath and pulls away, placing her hands down on to Skye’s shoulders, holding her at an arm’s length.

_Phil’s going to hate me for this, but it isn’t as if he doesn’t already._

“Skye. Your dad and I, we’re not together anymore.”

She regretted her words the second they’d come out, as Skye’s eyes widened and her bottom lip began to tremble.

“Do you not love each other?”

It sounded so innocent, so simple coming from a little girl.

But life was complicated.

“I can’t tell you how your dad feels about me, because I don’t know. I want you to know that I love him, and I love you,  but sometimes you need more than love for things to work out. You’re a big girl; you understand what I mean right?”

Skye nods quietly, and Melinda feels both a strange sense of pride that her daughter was so intelligent even at a young age, and sadness that she already understood the harsh realities of life.

“Does that mean I won’t see you anymore?”

Skye’s eyes are welling up with tears, and it takes everything in Melinda for her not to cry too.

“Your dad was telling you the truth, I have been very busy with work.”

_I don’t want to lie to you any more than I already have, but it’s for the best._

“And I won’t be able to come to your birthday next week, so I’m going to give you your present now, okay?”

Skye’s eyes, still filled to the brim with tears, light up in excitement at the prospect of a gift.

Shakily, Melinda reaches up to unclasp her necklace, holding the thin silver chain in her fingers. Taking Skye’s hand and gently easing her to turn her palm upwards, she slowly lets the chain fall into a pile and closes Skye’s fist around it.

Skye lets out a gasp, her mouth open in an ‘o’ shape, looking conflicted as to whether she should be accepting such a gift.

“But you said this necklace belonged to your grandmother.”

“And now it belongs to you.”

Still clutching the necklace tightly in her right first, Skye throws her arms around Melinda once more.

“Thank you Melinda. I love it.”

And as Melinda wraps her arms around Skye’s shoulders and holds her daughter close for what may be the last time in a long time, she allows a tear to escape, hoping that Skye won’t notice.

But she’s as observant as always and before Melinda can register what’s happening, Skye has reached up a hand to her cheek and is brushing it away with a frown.

“Why are you crying Melinda?”

_Because I’m leaving you again; because I’m not strong enough to stay._

Melinda shakes her head with a small smile.

“Because I’m going to miss you.”

And with that she brushes a hand through Skye’s hair and draws back.

“I have to go now. Jemma should be here to pick you up soon okay?”

They share a smile and Melinda feels a pang in her heart as Skye waves goodbye.

“Okay.”

She leaves then, missing the concerned expression upon Skye’s face, just as the little girl misses the tears once again flowing down her cheeks.


	44. Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a lot finally happens, and this fic meets a ton of cliches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration: Fix You by Coldplay

**Day 294:**

_Everyone is unique. We all have our own thoughts and opinions,_  
_mannerisms and emotions. Good traits and bad. Talents and flaws._  
_They say you don’t need to fix what isn’t broken, but why can’t_  
_we strive to improve in life? Though, that’s a discussion for another day._  
_A person can be broken physically, and those we call doctors can help them._  
_Sometimes. When a person is broken emotionally, the wounds are much_  
_more difficult to heal. But so long as you have someone who refuses to_  
_give up on you, who strives to fix you, there’ll come a day when you’re_  
_whole again._

 

Phil returns home just after midnight, and is greeted by a sight he's unfamiliar with. Jemma is waiting for him just inside the front door, her features laced with concern and immediately he realises something is wrong.

"What is it?"

She wrings her hands together and sighs heavily, taking a deep breath whilst looking down towards her shoes, black leather and well polished, before meeting his gaze once more.

"Sir, Skye hasn't come out of her room since I collected her from school. She didn't want tea and refused her dinner and she won't talk."

He subconsciously clenches his fists, arms hanging by his sides and nods once. He manages to contain his emotions as he escorts Jemma out, thanking her for her time, but once he has closed the door behind her, he lets out a groan of frustration.

Things at the hospital were awkward, and avoiding Melinda, that hurt, but not as much as the expression that crossed her features every time they bumped into one another. The expression of non-expression, which he knew meant she was upset, but he needed to stand his ground, to protect Skye.

He needed to remind himself constantly that Melinda had come here with a purpose, that she had lied to him. He couldn't let his feelings for her continually cloud his judgement; distract him from doing what a good father would.

Removing his shoes, he sets his laptop case down beside the door, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt. As he makes his way into the apartment, he sees that Skye's door is indeed closed, and he knocks gently before opening it and letting himself into her room.

Though medically impossible, he feels as though his heart is in his throat as he shuts her bedroom door and walks over to her bed.

Skye's sitting up, blankets wrapped around her shoulders even though it's mid spring and quite warm. Her face is flushed red, her eyes pink and puffy and there are tears staining her cheeks, both dried and fresh. One of her arms is curled around that darn red dragon which he now knows is from Melinda, and the other is clenched tightly, lying in her lap.

Phil rushes to her, pulling her against his side, his arms wrapping around her body as she buries her face in his shirt and continues to cry.

He holds her for what feels like an eternity until her sobs quieten down and she pulls herself away, pushing his arm with a tiny hand.

"Skye, what's wrong?"

She averts her gaze and her little shoulders are shaking and it physically hurts him to see her like this. She's staring at her lap and he twists over slightly to see what it is that is holding her attention.

Her iron grip has loosened and he can now see what she is clutching in her hand. It's a silver chain, familiar, a necklace, and he recognises it immediately.

Melinda.

"Skye. Where did you get that?"

It's a rhetorical question, because he knows exactly how she must have obtained it, but he still needs to hear her say it.

She clenches her fist tightly again and turns to him, tears still running down her cheeks, but now she's wearing a frown.

"Melinda came to see me after school today. She gave it to me for my birthday because she says she won't be here for it. Is she leaving?"

Each word is separated by either a sob or a hiccup and it's irrational because the first reaction to seeing his daughter in pain should be a similar feeling but all he can comprehend is the anger.

How dare Melinda go and see Skye when he specifically forbade it? She had no rights and now Skye is upset and it kills him inside.

"Melinda isn't who we thought she was Skye. She’s.. Just promise me that you'll tell me if she talks to you again."

The last thing he wants is to lecture her but it's for her own good, to protect her. The warning in his voice is apparent, and Skye can obviously sense it, because she reacts, albeit unexpectedly, pushing herself off the bed and shoving him back.

"She said that she still loves you, and that she would miss me. I'm nearly ten, I'm not a little kid anymore dad. She's leaving isn't she?"

Melinda still loved him? He questions whether she felt anything for him in the first place- even when they were together he had wondered why a woman so young and accomplished would pick a single father like him, and recent events have made it clear enough.

"She still loves you, and she said that she loves me as well. But she said that love isn’t always enough. Is she leaving because of me? Does she not want to become my step-mother in the future?"

Skye is full on bawling again, and Phil clenches his jaw with every sob, every cry. No matter how wrong Melinda was, is, he will more than likely be equally at fault if he doesn't tell Skye the truth, no matter how much it hurts now.

He picks her up in his arms and her arms immediately curl around his neck, her tears now staining the shoulder area of his shirt. She's a little too old to be carried, and normally objects to being held in such a way, but she's hurt and vulnerable and her tiny frame is wracking with heart-wrenching sobs as he makes his way through the apartment and into his own bedroom.

He gently sets her down on the edge of his unmade bed, and sits down beside her. She watches with curiosity as he bends down and rifles through his bottom drawer, pulling out the worn out envelope.

He sets it down into his laps and takes Skye's hands with one of his own, the other gently brushing the top of her head.

"This is a letter, from your birth mother. I've never read it, because it's for you when you're older, but I think you're mature enough for it now."

She smiles, and the tears are still there, but she's smiling. And that hurts even more. She thinks that he's doing this to distract her, to make her feel better when whatever is in that envelope may very well shatter her. He opens it, and hands her the letter, deftly catching the edge of the photograph and keeping it inside the envelope.

She unfolds the yellowing A4 page, and smooths it out on the bedspread between them. The letter is old, crinkled and written in black pen, several of the words slightly smudged, the ink running as if the page had been wet.

Skye picks the sheet up once more and begins to read it aloud in a clear voice, and Phil should really tell her not to, to leave the room so he doesn't hear the contents, but he's curious, he wants, no needs, to hear those words.

_To my daughter,_

_You entered the world this morning, perfect, with ten little fingers and toes and a tuft of dark hair. I've never truly loved before but I can already tell that you will be the exception._

_I'm twenty, and in a couple of months, I'll be off to start my internship at a hospital in LA. I'll be working all day and night, and I'll have no time for anything other than that. To make a name for myself, to have the career I’ve always wanted, the life I’ve worked so hard for, so far. It's selfish of me, but I have decided to give you up for adoption._

_You're going to be living with a wonderful family, have a mother and father that love you and can give you everything you desire._

_I can't do that for you, and I want you to have the best chance possible at life. To grow up happy, in want of nothing._

_You're sleeping in the nursery right now, because if I keep you at my side there is no way I'm going to be able to let you go._

_Leaving you will probably be the hardest choice I've ever made, but there's a family out there that wants you, that will take care you, and love you unconditionally._

_I hope the red dragon will stay with you, and remind you of me. The photo is there if you ever wonder, just as I wonder if you'll look anything like me when you're all grown up._

_I don't ask anything of you, and I have nothing to offer in return. I am and always will be your birth mother, but your parents chose you, and I know, I hope, you will choose them too._

_I wish you the best and hope more than anything in the world that you are happy and I have faith you’ll have grown into a brilliant young woman by the time you are reading this. If you decide to come looking for me one day, I will hold you in my arms and whisper a thousand apologies for my actions, but I don't expect that you will._

_I love you, and I'll always be thinking of you._

Skye's hands are shaking as she sets the letter down and Phil feels an overwhelming sense of guilt. Was it really by pure coincidence that Melinda had come into their lives? Did she never intend to take Skye away from him?

"My mother..."

Phil gingerly hands her the envelope and she hastily pulls the photo out, staring at it for several moments.

"I knew it."

Phil's breath catches in his throat as Skye utters those three words and his eyes widen as they register in his mind, but he doesn't have a chance to respond before she's speaking again.

Speaking is a nice way to put it.

"You knew she was my mother. Is that why she's leaving? Did you tell her to?"

Her voice is harsh and Skye hasn't thrown a tantrum since age three, so it's a shock to his system.

"I found out a couple of weeks ago when I saw the photo. I just want to protect you Skye; we don't know what she's thinking, and she isn't leaving, I only told her to stay away from us."

His voice is surprisingly level, but his words still hit her hard and she does the same to his chest with her fists as she begins crying once more.

"Why did you make her leave?! I don't want her to go!"

He holds her tightly as she continues to beat against him, hands balled up and face growing redder with every second. She's relentless, and he doesn't mean for the words to slip out, but they do anyway.

"She left you before."

He wants to take his statement back, retract it, rewind, try again. He's an adult and what he's just said to his nine year old daughter is cruel. But it seems to do the trick because she hiccups and stops crying, sitting up in his lap and placing her hands on either side of his shoulder, staring straight into his eyes.

"But she came back for me. And you made her leave."

He lets out a small sigh.

"Skye, she's not leaving."

He'd just seen her at the hospital this morning, passed by her in the hall, and he was the one that sped up to get away from her.

"She hugged me and told me she'd miss me. And then she cried."

He freezes at her last statement- Melinda didn't cry, not when she lost patients, not during sad movies, never. She had told him proudly during Marley and Me that she hadn't cried in nearly ten years and he realises now that the letter lying between him and Skye holds the very tears she last shed before yesterday.

He’s such an ass.

He’d jumped to conclusions; not even stopping to consider the possibilities before essentially harassing Melinda in front of the entire hospital and breaking things off with her. She mightn’t have left but he did tell her to stay away from them; cruel, and unfair and there aren’t enough words in the world to describe the regret he feels now. And everything between them had caused a divide amongst their friends and co-workers, tearing apart friendships, relationships, and it’s all his fault.

He almost can’t bring himself to move as his chest constricts, and he doesn’t know how long he has sat there on his duvet when Skye tugs at his hand. She’s changed into a t-shirt and pants, hair pulled into a messy ponytail and she’s retrieved his car keys from where he left them in the bowl by the front door.

“We have to go see her.”

Despite the situation, he beams at his daughter, and lets her pull him out of the room. Skye’s intelligence and maturity rivals that of children several years her senior, and he’s so proud of her.

She’s brilliant.

Just like her mother.

* * *

 

Phil calls her several times on the drive to the hospital, but the operator that answers each time after he presses the call button informs him that the number he is trying to call is out of service. As he pauses at a traffic light two streets down from the hospital, he holds his phone tightly in one hand, eyes trained on Melinda’s contact picture, a photo of her pulling a face from months back and the dozens of missed calls and messages from her that he still hasn’t checked.

His hands are sweaty as he rushes into the hospital with Skye right beside him. It’s almost one in the morning, and almost all the people they pass regard them with curiosity. He’s in the same clothes he wore to work on his last shift, and he and Skye both appear quite frazzled as they race upstairs to Melinda’s office.

The upper floor hallways are no busier than usual, pretty much deserted, and he’s more glad than ever that Melinda’s office is the first after they exit from the elevator, because he really can’t face any of his friends right now.

It’s dark inside, and he knocks several times on the door, receiving no response. Skye, impatient, pushes past him and pushes it open, the door swinging open to reveal her dark and empty office. He reaches blindly for the light switch, and when the room is once more illuminated in a yellow glow, his stomach sinks.

The vase stolen from Peggy’s apartment is no longer there, the desk completely free of papers, pens, files and folders. All the personal touches that indicate the room belongs to someone are missing, and Phil feels like someone has punched him in the gut because Skye is right.

Melinda is leaving.

Or, from the appearance of her office, has already left.

Skye’s hand clutches his arm tightly, and he knows exactly how distraught his daughter is right now, because he feels the same. Taking her hand in his, properly, they race out of the room and down the hall to one of the larger office spaces, home to their Chief of Staff.

The door is open and despite how afraid Phil is to enter, on account of Peggy being seriously angry with him, he races in, pulling Skye along with him. Sure enough, Peggy glares up at him, whatever is on her computer screen casting a red glow over her features, making her appear even more intimidating.

“Is there something you need, Dr. Coulson?”

Peggy is livid, and his throat closes up, mouth dry and this really isn’t the time to be having a panic attack. Skye steps forward purposefully and looks the highest ranking woman in their entire hospital dead in the eye.

“I would like to know where my mother is... Please.”

* * *

 

Though the suitcase Melinda is pulling along behind her is light, containing mostly clothes and useless things, it feels like she is pulling all her regrets and wrong doings along with her. Literal and metaphorical baggage.

The one-way ticket to LAX feels like it is almost burning her hand, a finality to this chapter of her life. When she arrives tomorrow, she’ll go and beg for her old job, and she’ll be right back where she was a year ago, working for a boss she hates, co-workers she won’t get along with and evenings alone, month after month, year after year.

But it won’t hurt as much.

She’s a coward, running away again. Phil’s words ring true in her mind; she bolts when things get hard, thinking of only herself and no one else. She imagines that will be the story Skye grows up with; how her mother left her, twice, abandoning her for selfish reasons. Leaving because she didn’t want to deal with reality.

The flight isn’t due to take off for another two hours, having already been delayed for four, due to “problems soon to be resolved” and Melinda roams the airport aimlessly, a coupon for a free beverage tucked into her back pocket. She still hasn’t gone through security yet; checked her bags or done anything aside from walking around, because she almost finds the act of doing so unbearable.

She stops by a coffee shop and orders a cookie and hot chocolate, because sugar will undoubtedly make her feel a little better. It’s a white chocolate and macadamia nut soft cookie, Skye’s favourite, and her hands shake as she sits at a corner table, just slowly nibbling at the treat, willing time to pass faster.

She wonders if her daughter will grow up to hate her for the decisions she’s made. Everything reminds her of Skye; the little boy with a Mickey Mouse backpack, the signs on the walls advertising cheap flights “Sky High”, a wailing child being comforted by her parents in a corner.

As she continues around after finishing up at the coffee shop, she swears she can almost hear Skye’s voice, and she smiles sadly to herself, because she’s clearly going crazy, deranged, utterly insane.

“Melinda!”

She stops in her tracks, thankful that no one is directly behind her or that will more than likely have caused an unforeseen public mishap. She must be dreaming, delusional, because she swears that someone just yelled her name, and it’s a voice she recognizes well.

Phil.

Her grip on the handle of her suitcase tightens, and she begins walking again, faster than before. She doesn’t know why he’s here; as if he hadn’t already made things clear at the hospital, in front of all the staff and patients, making a spectacle out of what should have been a private argument.

She’s not sure that she can hold it together if he’s here to make sure she’s going for good, the tears are already welling up in her eyes and she wishes that this weren’t an airport so she can break into a run without getting arrested by security.

Despite their falling out, she wants her final memory of him to be a happy one. And it had. This morning, at the hospital. She’d heard him walking down the hall with Steve and ducked into an empty examination room to avoid any further disputes- Steve had made a joke, and Phil had smiled, even laughed a little. She watched from in between the shutters. That moment is ingrained into her mind, and she doesn’t want, she can’t have him send her off like this.

Not that she doesn’t deserve it.

“Melinda!”

His voice is growing louder, and maybe she’s only imagining the anger that might come with the increase in volume, but it causes her to speed up.

She can’t face him. Not now. Not again.

There’s only a couple hundred metres until security, if she can just make it through, this will all be over. She’s nearly there, passport and ticket pulled hastily from her handbag as she steps up to the airport worker to be directed to the correct check-in desk when another voice calls for her, one that has her turning her head and freezing.

“Mom!”

It’s as if the hands on the clock are turning slower, as Skye, her daughter, weaves around the crowds of travellers and businessmen, running until she almost flies into Melinda’s arms.

It’s almost surreal.

Skye’s arms are wrapped tightly around her neck and shoulders, her little face pressed right up into Melinda’s hair, her legs hooking almost awkwardly around her waist, and if Melinda’s center of gravity were not so balanced, they may have toppled over.

Not that them publicly falling will draw much more attention than they already are. Skye is crying in her arms, and everything Melinda has bottled up in the last ten years comes pouring out.

“Skye,” she whispers, hugging her tightly, arms encircling her tiny frame, holding her, protecting her, loving her.

“Mom,” Skye half sobs, half whines, digging her fingers a little tighter into the back of Melinda’s neck, shifting slightly in her arms, trying to get closer, savouring the loving embrace of her long lost mother.

The others around them don’t have a clue what is happening; for all intents and purposes it appears that a young girl is distraught that her mother is taking a trip, unwilling to say goodbye.

They don’t know the truth.

“Melinda.”

Phil’s voice is soft, apologetic, and he seems haunted by demons as she looks up from the crown of Skye’s head to meet his eyes. He’s sorry, she can see it in his features, in his stance.

She’s sorry too.

“Stay.”

The word is said by both Phil and Skye, soft and pleading, apologetic from the former and excitement, elation and joy from the latter.

She shifts Skye slightly in her arms, adjusting so that they’re both more comfortable, and continues to look directly at Phil, her mind racing. He’s the love of her life, her daughter’s adoptive father, and the little girl she thought she’d never see again is wrapped up safe and warm in her arms, calling her Mom.

They’re far from perfect, maybe even a little bit broken, but it’s a start and she now has hope that they can find a future together.

“Okay.”

 


	45. There's A Place For Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda celebrates a lonely birthday and things finally come to and end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songspiration : There's A Place For Us by Carrie Underwood

**Epilogue**

_It’s on this day we reach the end of this story,_  
_well, this chapter in the big story of one’s life._  
_I didn’t realise at the time how important that_  
_day would grow to become, the day my family_  
_was finally complete… sort of. I’m really not_  
_good at this narrating thing, but I’m trying!_

 

When Melinda awakens at five in the morning to prepare for her shift, one hand shooting out to silence the repetitive tone of her alarm, the other reaching up to rub at her eyes, she doesn’t really feel, well, anything, out of the ordinary that is.

She doesn’t feel a year older.

Thirty-one.

The transition from her “late twenties” to her “early thirties”, a.k.a her thirtieth birthday last year, had been a quiet affair. She’d spent the day lounging around at her apartment, lazily packing in preparation for D.C, and endured calls from both Peggy and her mother. She doesn’t anticipate that this year will be any different, except for the fact that she has a twelve hour shift that ends at six in the evening, and will undoubtedly spend most of the day working at the hospital.

She forces herself out of bed, almost dragging her feet as she heads over to the bathroom, blindly searching for the lightswitch with her fingers, almost cringing as the bright white light floods the room.

Melinda spends a good ten minutes after a quick shower just staring at herself at her mirror, delicately tracing over the bags beneath her eyes, the hollows of her cheeks, the wrinkles and frown lines marring her features. Her gaze turns to the clothes she laid out last night; a pair of leggings and a worn old t-shirt, and taking another look in the mirror, she makes a decision.

She has to stop being pathetic and feeling sorry for herself; she isn’t the victim here and she should be grateful, she is, for what she has.

Securing the towel she has around her, she opens the door separating her bathroom and bedroom, letting some of the remaining steam from her scalding shower escape as she heads to her closet. Stowing away the leggings and t-shirt, she rummages around a little until she retrieves a dress with a colour gradient starting at pale pink and finishing at a deep rusty coral. She feels almost a little despondent as she slips it off the hanger, and holds it in her hands for a good minute or two before taking it back into the bathroom with her.

She gets dressed quickly, covering up the flaws all over her face with a light layer of make-up; hiding the shadows beneath her eyes, smiling at her reflection, as if needing to practice that very expression. She paints her lips a pale shade of peach, grabbing a pair of matching wedges from her closet on the way out. She has more comfortable shoes for work in her office and she’ll be in her scrubs in no time, but she just has the need to look nice, for herself, even if just for a moment.

Once she’s satisfied with how everything is, she fetches her bag from where it hangs on the back of the door and heads out of the apartment and downstairs. Her eyes begin their customary scan of the street, seeking out a familiar face, but it’s not even six in the morning and the roads are still quiet. She spots Steve’s car parked almost at the end of the block, and three figures standing by; Steve, Peggy and not so surprisingly, Natasha, who must have ambushed Steve for a ride in the morning.

She smiles as she reaches her friends, begrudgingly allowing them to wish her a happy birthday, and accepting Natasha’s constricting hug. The trip to the hospital is pretty uneventful, Steve and Natasha singing along to the radio while Peggy scarfs down a chocolate croissant.

They have an impromptu celebration for her in her office, just a few of the attendings: Bobbi and Hunter present her with a fancy looking cake from an upscale bakery down the block, and Natasha’s dragged Maria along and of course Steve and Peggy are here. They insist on singing “Happy Birthday” despite her protests, and she blows out the one candle Natasha has stuck right in the dead centre of the cake.

She wishes for nothing more and nothing less than what she has right now.

* * *

 

They leave her with a slice of cake which probably needs refrigerating given the temperature and a dozen more birthday wishes, and it feels so strange to have so many people that care, but it's a good kind of strange.

She makes the two minute trek down to the attending's lounge to make use of the fridge and internally cringes at the fact that she's been at work for barely an hour and her feet are already aching thanks to her "fashionable" footwear. As soon as she's done here, those heels have got to go; the worn sneakers in her office much more suited to the needs of a busy surgical attending. She stashes the remnants of her birthday cake into the fridge, knowing that no one will take it, either by mistake or on purpose.

Melinda is heading back down the hall to the elevator when she sees Phil with a chipper young resident, bright, blonde and perky with an unwavering smile and a fucking pink ribbon around her ponytail. A quartet of interns surround them; she recognises Fitz, Jemma's not-boyfriend, one of the many members of staff that found disdain towards her after the whole incident. They're waiting to go up as well, and she wonders if she should just slink away and take the stairs, but it's more than likely her feet will give out before she makes it up there. That and that she can't avoid her problems; she's made the decision to stay, and that means daily confrontations that she's less than comfortable with; but she can handle it. She keeps her distance when they board, heading towards a corner and trying to make herself unseen.

Phil by all means doesn't appear to have noticed her, completely engrossed in a discussion about treatments for pediatric pancreatic cancer with Little Miss Perky, and she trains her gaze to the ground, fidgeting with the hem of her dress, fingers tugging at the bright coral fabric in a feeble attempt to stop herself from staring at him.

Her thoughts are disproved when they arrive at the fourth floor and he pointedly gives her a curt nod before exiting, accompanied by his entourage. The tiny metal prison around her seems so much bigger and emptier than it really is.

* * *

 

He'd badgered her about it. Her birthday. Back when they were together, he'd asked her everyday for a month before threatening to dig through her personal medical records to find out which day of the three hundred and sixty six she called her birthdate.

She eventually caved and told him of course, and they'd even discussed possible ways to celebrate; Phil with a million and one suggestions and Melinda rolling her eyes at each and every one of them.

Melinda isn't sure he remembers; she is sure however, that he's discarded, pushed away all memories of their time together. It's clear as day to anyone that he's avoiding her- they've spoken four times in the past month, each conversation polite, distant, awkward, and lasting no more than a minute.

She doesn't blame him.

He lets Skye spend time with her once a week; silently dropping their daughter off at her front door and picking her back up at the end of the day. Those hours she spends with her little girl are the highlight of her week, and she's so thankful to Phil for allowing it, so grateful. He's been kind enough to take a step back and try and patch up whatever it is between them- a twisted friendship that revolves around Skye, and she has no intention of overstepping boundaries or crossing lines put in place for a reason.

Still, a few days ago, she had worked up the courage to ask Phil if she could maybe spend some time with Skye today, not bringing up her wish to celebrate her birthday with her daughter by her side. He had frowned, gritted his teeth and answered with a simple "No, she's busy that day" and she had fought down the urge bubbling within her to apologise over and over for making such a request.

She should be happy with what she has; as he had angrily pointed out during the weeks in which there were misunderstandings and arguments, she has no rights to Skye, and the only reason she even gets to see her on a week to week basis is because he's a good person. And she knows these little mother-daughter dates can end permanently in the blink of an eye if he sees fit to do so.

She shakes away the thoughts as she stares at the dress that is now lying flat on her little couch, the uncomfortable heels discarded beneath her desk. She's about three inches shorter now, but her scrubs and coat give her a strange feeling of empowerment. Comfort. Safety.

She has one routine bypass today, and then the rest of the evening off. Natasha had forcibly stolen her evening shift, covering her patients for the night as a birthday gift. She suspects Peggy has something to do with it, and as much as she had wanted to decline the offer, one look from her closest friend and confidant had her begrudgingly accepting the "gift" from her former intern.

"You have the night off to celebrate, do whatever the hell you want. Get drunk. Hook up with a fella and get laid. Use protection. Shit. Sorry. Was that too soon?"

Natasha had always had a way with words.

Getting drunk isn't a solution to the problems in her life, but it sounds like a pretty good way to spend the evening. Maybe she'll steal some of the good whiskey  trapped beneath the sink before she leaves in the late afternoon. Maria probably won't mind, Natasha is more than likely to egg her on and it's safe enough to lose herself to alcohol if she's locked up in her apartment.

It wouldn't be the first time.

* * *

 

The bypass was uneventful, ordinary, boring even, and as she stood back to let one of the residents close up, she didn't feel the joy that was usually there from saving a life. She didn't feel the thrill that came with doing surgery.

Melinda felt empty.

She had headed upstairs and changed back into her regular people clothing, contemplating how inappropriate it would be to leave the hospital barefoot, before slipping her shoes back on. After packing up her things, she'd made a quick detour to the attending's lounge to retrieve her cake, and a bottle of unopened whiskey, carefully adjusting the dishwashing liquids and detergents to keep the hidden compartment from sight.

Clint, who was seated in one of the couches with Natasha napping against his side, gave her a quiet birthday wish and a smile which she returned. She was well aware of the strain that had been placed on Natasha's relationship with him after he took Phil's side and Natasha stood by her. The guilt she felt for that didn't equal the guilt about Skye that was constant and unwavering, but it came as close as anything would.

She was happy to see that they had made up, and that he didn't appear to harbour any residual ill feelings towards her.

If only it were that easy with everyone.

That was over an hour ago, and she had hitched a cab ride home, and if the driver had thought anything of the fact that she had a whiskey bottle in one hand in broad daylight, he said nothing.

She's showered, letting the hot water scald her skin until it flushed red, scrubbing away the dirt and grime and fatigue from the day.

The digital clock on her nightstand reads 18:19 when she exits the bathroom in her underwear. She digs around in her closet and finds a pair of sweatpants, quickly pulling them on before rummaging for a shirt.

She stiffens when she extracts a large worn t-shirt, grey in colour, edges fraying, a giant red, white and blue shield emblazoned on the front.

Melinda vehemently won't admit to this later, but she spends a minute just holding it to her chest, pressing the cotton fabric to her cheek for a moment before taking a deep breath. Phil had left it here two or three months ago, and after she put it through the wash, it no longer held his scent, instead carrying the sweet smell of the fabric softener she used on all her loads.

After allowing herself just a short period of weakness, she snaps back to the present and lays the shirt out on her bed, carefully folding it up. She makes her way into the kitchen and manages to fish out a good quality plastic bag, tucking the folded shirt inside before re-entering her room.

There are several bits and pieces scattered around that belong to him, and she might as well return them. When she had decided to go back to LA, she had really only packed one suitcase full of the things most precious in the world to her, leaving everything else behind for Peggy to box up and send to her at a later date.

Hence the apartment remaining mostly untouched when she abandoned her plans and made the decision to stay.

A thick novel he had called "light reading" sits amongst the books she has set up in a makeshift bookshelf, and she retrieves it, sliding it in beside the shirt. One of his ties still resides in her sock drawer, and she removes it, eyes flickering over the framed photo of her and Skye smiling while on vacation that sits on top of the drawer. It's next to the card that Skye made her for Christmas, an empty spot beside it because she's removed the photo of her and Phil, placing it inside her nightstand because it's more than inappropriate to have a photo of your ex-boyfriend up.

His toothbrush still stands beside hers in a tall glass in the bathroom, and there's a bar of soap from a pack of six that she bought especially for him because her shampoo and body wash were too "flowery" for his tastes. She doesn't suppose he'll want them and she wonders she'll do with the other five unopened bars of soap. She picks his toothbrush up and holds it above the bin for an eternity before returning it to its spot beside hers; she can't bring herself to throw it away.

Not that she hasn't tried.

Several times a day, every day since he broke things off.

Even when she had packed up her bags to leave, she hadn't been able to throw it out.

It's really a testament to how weak she is.

Abandoning the bathroom, she grabs the bag from its position on her bed and brings it over to the spare room, Skye's room for whenever she should want or need it. She's angry at herself for using her daughter as a buffer, but has already made up her mind to have Skye return Phil's things for her.

When that's all done, she realises she still isn't wearing a shirt, and grabs a simple black tee, slipping it on before venturing back out to the kitchen.

The whiskey is exactly where she left it on the counter, and she spends a good minute wondering if drinking straight from the bottle is as insane as she thinks it is before grabbing a glass from the cabinet and pouring herself a shot.

She downs it in one go, relishing the burning sensation in the back of her throat as she turns to the fridge, taking out the little cake box. Setting it down, she opens the lid, and the sides as well, digging around in the cutlery drawer for a fork.

The single slice of cake looks sad against the silver foil board that once supported the entire thing. The whipped cream piping decorating the sides is drooping, and the shard of chocolate that sits on top of the slice glistens with moisture from refrigerating.

She doesn't want dinner because she has no energy to make anything herself, not that it would taste great even if she did, and she really doesn't want to deal with anyone right now, not even the take out boy for thirty seconds.

So dessert and drinks it is.

By the time she's eaten half the of the remaining slice of cake, she's already downed about six shots of whiskey and isn't feeling any drunker than she was after the first.

She's not drinking her sorrows away, because that's ridiculous.

She isn't sad.

It's a stretch, but you could even say she was happy.

This time last year she was stuck at a hospital that made her hate her work, with pretty much no hope for the future. From the day she began her residency, all she did was work, making no friends and pretty much not living life to its fullest.

But then Peggy had called and she had flown to D.C and her life has changed for the better.

She's had her first proper experience with romance, being in a relationship, with a man as great as Phil, and she thinks she might try it again one day. It's not so bad having someone to care about, someone to care for you. Not anytime in the foreseeable future though.

And Skye. Her brilliant little girl is growing up exactly as Melinda had hoped she would get to, with a loving family- an amazing father who would go to the ends of the earth for her, and a slew of honorary aunts and uncles watching over her.

Melinda never imagined that she'd be able to see her daughter, much less be involved in her life, and it's amazing.

For the first time in a long time she has hope for the future.

But this whole getting drunk thing really isn't working out for her. She sets the bottle of whiskey back onto the counter and rummages around in the cabinets until she finds the bottle of red wine that Phil brought for a date a while back, and it still has about a glass worth of deep red liquid in the bottom.

Removing the stopper, she grabs the neck of the bottle, and this time she really does drink from it, emptying it in just over a minute. She's beginning to feel a little lightheaded when she grabs the whiskey once more, buts she's still nowhere near tipsy.

Melinda eventually decides that pouring out shots is a real pain and a waste of time so taking another forkful of cake, she drowns it in about two shots worth of whiskey straight from the bottle. The back of her eyes are beginning to sting- they've been pretty much bloodshot the entire day and the alcohol probably isn't helping.

She alternates between taking a drink and swallowing a forkful of cake and there's still about three quarters of a bottle and three bites left when her doorbell rings. She really doesn't want to deal with anyone right now, so she ignores it. But the ringing doesn't stop and she wonders how long she'll have to pretend that no one is home for whoever is pestering her to leave and go and bother her neighbours instead.

After about a minute, the ringing is accompanied by loud knocking, and she realises that she isn't going to get any peace until she gets rid of whoever is at the door. She slides off the bar stool, grabbing the bottle of whiskey in her left hand as she pads over to the door with a loud grumble, ready to death glare the shit out of whoever is making such a ruckus.

She turns the lock and pulls the door open, tightening her grip around the neck of the whiskey bottle as she sees who is standing outside her apartment.

It's Phil.

He's all dressed up, in a fancy suit with a tie and everything, clean shaven and shoes polished and she can't for the life of her figure out whether she's drunker than she realises or that he's really standing there.

His eyes widen as he looks her over, from the baggy sweatpants to the old t-shirt and unwashed hair falling out of the loose bun she had put it in for her shower. She's well aware that she looks pretty haggard, no make-up to mask all the flaws, eyes red from exhaustion and a bottle of whiskey in one hand for heaven’s sake.

He's dressed to the nines and she looks absolutely pathetic, killing her liver and basically the rest of her body with all the alcohol. He looks like he's about to go out on a date and she can't come up with an explanation as to why he's here at her apartment. She might just hole herself up in her room and cry if he's letting her have Skye for the evening while he goes out, because she's in no state to take care of a child.

"What do you want Phil?" she croaks out, throat burning from all the whiskey, voice cracking as she speaks.

He steps forward into the apartment, forcing her to edge backwards as he pushes the door closed behind them, and she nearly trips over her own feet.

Before she can register what is happening, he has a hand around her arm, steadying her, and he's wrestling the bottle from her, setting it down on the coffee table, out of her reach. She tries to push him away, but his grip on her is iron, not unlike how he had grabbed her at the hospital eight weeks ago and she just wants him to leave so she can drink until she passes out.

She expects him to yell, to shout at her for drinking like this. That she's probably a terrible influence for Skye and that she won't be seeing her anymore.

What she doesn't expect however, is for him to wrap both arms around her, pulling her as close as possible as they sink to the ground together. She wants to tell him to leave, to beat her fists against him until he lets her go, but she's missed his embrace more than anything and she doesn't want to leave it.

She wonders if he pities her after he sees how pathetic she is right now.

She's vaguely aware that something is shaking, shuddering, and she realises that it's Phil. That he's shaking while he holds her, and she shifts back, lifting her head to look up at him, almost not believing the sight before her.

There are tears running down his cheeks, dripping onto both her and his lap.

He's crying. And he's shaking from the intensity of it, and she's never seen him this distressed, this upset.

And it hurts her more than anything.

Maybe it's the excessive alcohol in her system, or the fact that she's really gone soft after him and Skye, and that she's so tired and she misses Phil so much, but she finds herself beginning to cry as well, unable to stem the tears that are spilling out.

"No. Please don't cry," he half shouts, arms unwrapping from around her, hands coming up to cradle her face, his thumbs trying furiously to wipe away the tears from her cheeks.

Her onslaught of tears seem to have slowed his, and she's really not thinking straight at the moment, just letting everything she's bottled up inside for the past ten years out.

"Please don't cry Melinda, please don't cry," he whispers over and over, and she feels as though her heart is metaphorically breaking all over again because he's so kind and caring even now and the sound of her name on his lips never ceases to affect her.

She's pretty lax and he pulls her back to him; she's half sitting in his lap with her arms around his neck and her face pressed against his shoulder and he's holding her so tightly. She wishes that this could last forever, that he'd never let go.

But he'd come to tell her something obviously; her mind has calmed down enough to decipher that, and he's probably late for something important now and it's all her fault because despite everything, he still cares and he's stuck here because she's a mess.

She forces herself to slow her breathing down, and the tears stop running as well. She allows herself a moment longer in his arms before she pulls away from him, the back of her hand rubbing away the reminding tears.

"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate," she says, trying to extricate herself from his grasp, panicking slightly when he doesn’t let go.

“No.”

One of his arms remains tightly around her waist, his other hand raising to cup her cheek, forcing her and she’s so confused because he has this look in his eyes that she recognises but doesn’t understand.

“Melinda,” he whispers, and her eyes fall shut as he speaks, having no idea what to do, how to proceed. She supposes she should just let him take the lead, because he’s the one that showed up at her apartment.

“I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m a horrible person, and I’ve been trying these past few weeks to find a way to apologise without sounding like the idiot I am, which is so stupid, because I know that once I start talking I can’t stop and I’m sorry. And now I’m rambling again an-” Phil drones on until Melinda shakes her head and places one hand gingerly against his cheek.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I started all of this,” she whispers, and and he’s leaning closer, sandwiching tendrils of her hair between their foreheads.

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, and I chased you away and Skye still hasn’t forgiven me for that and I realise now how wrong I was, how wrong I am. Skye loves you, and you are her mother, I shouldn’t have thought otherwise. I shouldn’t have made the decision for the three of us. I’m so sorry, and I know we can work things out, maybe she can stay with you on alternate weekends and when I’m on call and you’re not. And if you don’t want, we don’t even have to do anything together, but we’ll make sure Skye can spend time with both of us and as long as she’s happy it’ll be great.”

“Phil, I-” she tries, but he’s still talking and smiling and she can see the tension seeping from his body, the relief spreading across his features as he lets all the words he wishes to say to her out.

“But I want you to know that I’ll make it up to you; apologise for all the pain I’ve caused. I overreacted- behaved like a child and I’ve made things awkward between us and at work and I’ll make it up to you eventually, I promise. Anything, you name it.”

“Phi-” she doesn’t even have the time to finish his name before he starts again and she lets a small smile form on her lips at how ridiculously adorable he is, even at a time like this.

“And I don’t want to put this on you, but I need to tell you, I need you to know that I love you. I did even when I thought I was angry and I was so conflicted and I don’t want to pressure you after everything that’s happened, and I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything but, yeah. I love you.”

He pauses to take a breath because he’s a little flushed in the face, and she can’t tell whether it’s because he’s embarrassed or from the lack of oxygen. When he opens his mouth to speak again, she silences him the only way she knows is effective.

By bringing her hand to the back of his neck, closing her eyes and pressing their lips together.

They haven’t kissed in so long, and if he’s surprised that she’s initiating an impromptu make-out session, he’s not complaining. She’s still in his lap and she knows he probably can’t feel his legs by now, so she shifts until she’s straddling him and presses their chests together, her arms winding tighter around his neck as he finds a perch for his hands upon her hips.

“I love you too Phil. I never stopped either,” she confesses when they pull apart for air, and now they’re wearing matching smiles because despite everything that they’ve gone through, the mistakes that both of them have made, they’re in each other’s arms at the end of the day and that’s all that really matters.

“So, what’s with the suit?” she asks, resting her head against his shoulder as she plays with his tie, feeling warmer and more content than ever in his arms. A light bulb seems to go off in his head at her words, and he strokes her hair as he murmurs a soft reply. “I came over to try and win you back, thought it might play to my advantage if I dressed nicely. If you forgave me I’d go ahead with the next phase of my plan, and if you didn’t, I was just going to go home and sleep in my suit and wrinkle it.”

“Plan?”

He nods, chin bumping gently against the top of her head and she can feel the happiness radiating from his very core.

“Yeah,” he says, and in the blink of an eye, he’s standing up and pulling her with him, taking both her hands in his, running his thumbs over her knuckles.

“Come home with me.”

* * *

 

_And that’s the story of how I met my mother. The story doesn’t end here; it keeps going, even after there are no more pages left to turn. I hope to have more tales to share soon._

_Love, Skye_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to each and everyone one of you who has stuck with this fic till the very end. I'm usually okay with words but I truly don't know how to say how grateful I am to you all. I would have never been able to do this without all your support. Please feel free to come by and say hello on [tumblr](http://elle-you-oh.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D).


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